


trouble comes to fodlan

by fyrefalcon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, During Canon, F/M, Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route, Fluff and Angst, I HAVE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE, Light Angst, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for everything, but also feelings n shit, they are definitely gonna bang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyrefalcon/pseuds/fyrefalcon
Summary: ...and it is heading straight for rhea's advisor and her new right hand. agony ensues.
Relationships: Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 70
Kudos: 172





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look. I've never done this fanfic thing before but I am *obsessed* with these two. So. Much. Angst.
> 
> All I want is to do the wild, emotional journey justice. (And spend more time thinking about the two of them banging each other's brains out.) (And Seteth's deep feels.)
> 
> So! Here we are. Hope you enjoy.

Byleth was vaguely aware of her earthly presence in her bed, but the dream she’d been having was still vivid in her mind’s eye: A peculiar girl, with green hair and a belligerent attitude. A battle. Another green-haired woman, clutching a sword, her face smeared with blood. 

Byleth could not shake the feeling of portent that clung to her like fog. 

Something was shifting, something was different inside of her, and she couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly, it was. 

She remembered something strange. The green-haired girl from her dream shared her birthday. How could that be? Did dream-creatures even have birthdays? 

Byleth hadn’t ever thought about her dreams, not until she’d kept having this one, over and over again. Always that battle, and always that girl. 

And everyone with green hair. Had she even seen anyone with green hair before, in Fodlan? She didn’t think so. Not like that.

Honestly, most of the time, she didn’t even think about her life. 

Just one battle to the next, one objective to the next, one job to the next. Sourcing weapons, negotiating contracts...and staying alive. Following her father and making war, for money.

It wasn’t the only way to live, but it was their life, and it suited Byleth well enough at that.

She heard her father preparing their equipment in the cabin; he was noisy in the way of someone trying to do something quietly. While Byleth appreciated his effort to grant her another fifteen minutes of sleep, she knew she should be up soon regardless. 

With some effort, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and forced herself into waking. 

He looked at her, taking in her face. “Morning, By.” 

Jeralt looked exactly the same as he had every morning of her entire life. His hair plaited down his neck, his battle-worn face pulling a gruff half-smile. “Morning, Dad.” 

“It’s another early morning. We’ve gotta be on the road before dawn.” 

“I remember.” 

She saw her father smile again, pleased, although he quickly turned away. Jeralt wasn’t big on gestures of affection, but she always knew that he loved her. Without question.

Byleth joined him and helped him sort the equipment for their upcoming job. They wouldn’t be returning here, so it would be best to offload anything that wouldn’t hold up through the next several missions. 

“Been having that dream again?” he asked softly, a note of concern in his voice.

“Yeah.” Byleth sighed. “The battle, the blood, the girl.” 

“Hasn’t been a battle like that for almost a thousand years,” he said. 

“I know. I just--”

An urgent knock interrupted her. Jeralt had the door open in seconds, his feet a flash across the floor. She couldn’t hear the details, but she knew a fight was in her future when she saw the set of her father’s mouth as he listened to the person on the other side of the door. 

She grabbed her sword. 

Jeralt took a half-step back inside to address Byleth. “Bandits. After some students from the academy. You ready, kid?” 

Byleth nodded. “I am.”

*

The students they were protecting had been trained well enough for Byleth and Jeralt to force a hasty victory against Kostas and the other bandits. 

Something about bandits’ presence so close to Remire unsettled Byleth in the same deep place that had been unmoored by her repetitive dream. 

Jeralt had gone to secure the men they’d dispatched during the scuffle. The three lords stood just paces away from her, and Byleth observed them as they chattered among themselves. 

Claude’s bearing was radiant even as his golden cape was subdued in the early morning light. 

Byleth had never met a noble like him before, although she’d certainly met other mercenaries who shared his proclivities. Nothing got past him, and he was quick to a joke, but there was something slippery under the surface she couldn’t quite pin.

Dmitri was angry, and wounded, and raw, even if he didn’t want anyone else to know. No one swung a weapon like that if they weren’t hurting somewhere inside. His bearing was polished, but there were untapped depths there--Byleth could see that from just their first battle.

And Edelgard. 

Byleth knew her own reputation for being undemonstrative--after all, she hadn’t earned the moniker Ashen Demon for nothing. But the ice behind the Imperial princess’s eyes rivaled Byleth’s own. 

And she was _beautiful_. 

Byleth always had nursed a soft spot for women--and men, she didn't discriminate--who could wield an axe with Edelgard’s level of expertise. There was something about the raw brutality of the weapon that lit her up inside. Edelgard was fierce and strong and determined...and dangerous. 

Byleth liked her already. But she didn’t trust her for a single second. 

As Byleth watched, Edelgard’s face shifted from laughter to alarm. Following her gaze, she saw that Kostas wasn’t truly waylaid at all: he was charging her, his own axe at the ready--

Byleth was moving before her brain had fully registered the situation, sliding in front of the girl to protect her, grabbing her own weapon just a second too late. 

She felt the blunt force of the axe striking her back, braced herself for the cutting action of the blade. She closed her eyes, swearing inwardly, knowing she’d just traded Edelgard’s life for her own. _Stupid, so stupid, you know better than this--_

_“That was, indeed, quite stupid.”_

_Wait, what?_ Byleth stood up and opened her eyes. Everything was dark, and the green-haired girl from her dream lounged before her. _Am I dead? No. This can’t be the afterlife._

_“You’re not dead. But if you don’t know the value of your own life, why would you think to protect it?”_

“The...value of my life?”

Byleth realized that every single thing she thought she knew--about herself, about her life, about the fabric of the world itself--was about to change. Forever.

*

Early the following morning, Byleth walked with Edelgard and the others beneath a corridor of trees. They were less than half a day from the monastery. Jeralt had agreed to return with the chatty man with the bad mustache, and Byleth, well, she would go too. 

Even though everything was different, there was no reason not to follow her father.

_I can turn back time._

Caught in her own ruminations, she half-listened as the house leaders chattered to her and to each other, about Garreg Mach. About the three houses, the Officers Academy. 

_I can turn back time._

She half-listened as Alois interrogated her father about the last twenty years of his life, years that she had been present for, but still only half-remembered. She caught details that she had forgotten, or perhaps had never known.

_I can turn back time._

_“Yes, you can. With my help, of course,”_ Sothis responded. _“And only on the battlefield, when you truly need it. Now pay attention, before you miss something important.”_

Byleth usually prided herself on her close attention to detail, on her ability to read between the lines, to use what she witnessed as an asset on the battlefield and otherwise. 

She might not have friends to speak of, but she’d been watching people her whole life, and she knew she noticed things that others did not.

Sothis, the green-haired girl, was right. There was so much to learn here, as these new companions chatted to each other and to her. Things she hadn’t had the opportunity to learn before, when she was in a new town every fortnight, with change--and Jeralt--the only constant in her life.

She was missing something important. Something was already different.

_I can turn back time._

Byleth shook her head. If she wasn’t standing here whole and undamaged while still recalling the feeling of Kostya’s weapon striking her back, she wouldn’t have believed it. Even as she remembered, it was difficult to believe.

_I can turn back time._

She let the truth, strange as it was, integrate fully, and then shifted her attention externally, listening to her companions as they revealed themselves around her.

Byleth watched the sun break through the trees overhead, feeling her future draw closer with every step she took.

It was time to start paying attention.

***


	2. the beginning of something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seteth is having such a bad day, guys. it's mostly byleth's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all into grinding along with this slow burn like I am--there's nothing I like more than some long-simmering sexual tension, self-flagellation, and seteth's remorse at his own (semi-)human weakness.

The sun rose on Garreg Mach Monastery, streaming into Seteth’s office from across the hall as he shuffled the papers on his desk for the thousandth time already today.

Three students were missing from the officer’s academy. 

_Any_ missing student was cause for deep concern, but these particular students were the heirs of their respective territories. How could Alois have been so careless? 

The situation sent Seteth’s mind straight to thoughts of continental warfare. The last time Fodlan had been consumed by conflict, his daughter had lost most of a millennium. 

And Seteth had lost his wife. Almost a thousand years later, his heart was still tender with grief. 

He couldn’t let something so devastating happen again. 

It was with this productive mindset that he approached his morning tasks. Even he could see he wasn’t going to get anything meaningful accomplished until Edelgard, Claude, and Dmitri had been found.

As such, Seteth was in a blistering mood by the time a knight knocked on his office door, an hour short of the midday bells. 

“Lady Rhea would like to see you, sir. She’s in the courtyard.” 

“This had better be good news,” the archbishop’s advisor muttered as he brushed past the knight and into the hallway. 

He leashed his desire to run, taking each stair one at a time, his heart beating in his ears and his breath shorter than it had any right to be given his thorough training regiment. 

He rounded the corner before the courtyard, and he took a moment to quell the sensation of terror that had laced its way into his chest. 

He closed his eyes. _Everything will be all right,_ he told himself, also for the thousandth time already that day. _Flayn is safe. Rhea and I are together. We will protect her, and we will protect each other._

He stepped out into the sunlight, and once his eyes adjusted, he took in the strange gathering before him.

A detachment of knights was only now starting to disarm, attended to by their squires and monastery staff. An excited buzz rose from the crowd. Something exciting had happened, and it seemed details of the event were already working their way through the rumor mill of Garreg Mach.

On the far end of the courtyard, Rhea spoke to Alois. A grizzled warrior stood beside them, someone Seteth felt he should recognize but could not place. 

Looking pointedly around the courtyard for the missing students, Seteth felt his chest unclench as he spotted Dmitri, Edelgard, and Claude--safe, thank the _goddess_ \--along with a woman who was wholly unfamiliar to him. 

_A fact that I would soon like to rectify,_ something primal and long-silent suggested inside of him. 

Seteth almost choked at his own reaction. The last few sleepless nights must have compromised his sanity more than he’d anticipated. _Early to bed, this night,_ he pledged.

The unknown person was being flocked by the trio of thronelings, and Seteth could tell that the teenagers were wholly smitten with the woman, each in turn vying for her attention. 

As Seteth crossed the courtyard, watching, he began to see why.

Her blue hair shone in the sunlight, and her wide eyes soaked in the splendor of the monastery, seeming to see everything at once and nothing at all. That same primal part spread its wings inside of him, his long-dormant dragon form wishing to be admired by this curious stranger. 

_Oh, stop your preening,_ he chided himself.

She was stunningly beautiful, efficiently built, and well-proportioned, with an elegance of movement that Seteth had only beheld in women a handful of times in his long life: Thunder Catherine wielding Firebrand; Ingrid of Galatea atop a pegasus; Seiros herself astride the field of battle. 

Judging from the weapons strapped to her person, this woman was a warrior as well. 

His eyebrows raised as he considered what seemed to be her combat attire. She must be quite skilled if she could get away with that manner of dress in battle--so much of her skin was left unprotected from sword or shaft. 

Seteth was impressed in spite of himself. 

In fact, his only criticism of her physical form was her infuriatingly immodest dress, unseemly for a woman of her caliber and for the monastery at large. It left far too little to the imagination. 

Seteth immediately dismissed the sensation growing inside of him as a response to her inadequate clothing, nothing more. 

He shifted uncomfortably.

After all, it had been more than half a millennium since he’d allowed himself to lie with a woman, in an era where strangers with strange ears and brilliant emerald hair drew far less attention than they did today...and his daughter slept, safely away from harm. 

His age alone hadn’t dulled the fire in his blood. Yet. At least not as much as he might have preferred.

His earlier anxiety had been replaced by a growing...awareness, and he knew now why such a woman might hold the attention of these students in particular. Especially Claude. 

_Put it from your mind, Cichol. She is a passing curiosity, nothing more._

He shifted his attention as he approached Rhea, bowing low before speaking. “You wished to see me, Archbishop?”

“I did, indeed, Seteth. As I am sure you have noticed, our three missing students have been returned to us, accompanied by no small amount of divine providence.” 

She gestured toward her battle-worn companion. “Alois encountered Jeralt Eisner in the field. By some act of the goddess, he is, in fact, alive, and he has agreed to return to his position as Captain of the Knights of Seiros.”

Seteth looked at Jeralt, eyebrows raised. “The Blade Breaker?”

Jerelt bowed, stiffly. “The very same.”

Seteth bowed in return. “I am Seteth, Rhea’s advisor. It’s my pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Captain. Your exploits are legendary.”

Jeralt nodded. “Thank you, Advisor.” 

Rhea continued. “Alois has also found a solution to another unexpected development.” She sighed lightly. “The...individual that we’d found to assist Hanneman and Manuela departed swiftly at the first sign of danger, leaving our students in mortal risk and the academy no poorer for their absence.” 

For the third time today, Seteth’s eyebrows approached his hairline. “Indeed? How disappointing. If that is the case, we’re well parted from him.” He turned toward Alois. “I take it you have found a suitable replacement?”

The cheeky man smiled, bowing in his flamboyant way. “I did.” He gestured toward the three students, who still surrounded the mystery woman from before, summoning them over. “I recommended Jeralt’s daughter for the position. The Ashen Demon. She’s a force to be reckoned with, Seteth. Legendary in her own right.”

 _No._ Almost every inch of Seteth protested. _Anyone but her._

He knew he could distract himself from someone like her over a passing evening, or even a mission or a moon. But day in and day out for an entire year? With Flayn’s safety hanging on his self-control?

Seteth felt the agony of the prospect tighten his chest. He had to discourage this. Now.

Rhea smiled as the group approached them. “Seteth, I’d like to introduce you to our new professor, Byleth Eisner.” 

Seteth knew his face was tight with disapproval; he couldn’t hide it. “Lady Rhea, surely we should reconsider--” 

Rhea shook her head. “I have already offered her the role. Happily, she has accepted.” She turned to address the students and the blue-haired woman. 

_Byleth,_ Seteth corrected, feeling a frisson of something unwelcome pass through him as he considered her name on his tongue.

Rhea continued. “All that remains is for her to choose a house to lead.” 

Seteth knew he was causing a scene, but he couldn’t reign in his extreme distaste at this decision. “Archbishop, at the very least, we should delay until we can conduct a full investigation. With all due respect--”

Rhea cut him off. “Seteth. My decision is final.” 

“Be that as it may, I must strongly caution--” 

Rhea cut him off again. “Byleth is the daughter of our very own Blade Breaker, Seteth. She single-handedly saved our students from an entire squadron of bandits.” 

Seteth knew the admonishment was coming before it left her lips. “Surely her heritage and her prowess in battle meets even _your_ standards, Advisor.”

Every face in the group had turned to regard him. 

Claude had that damn arrow out, flipping it again and again and again as he looked at Seteth, assessing the older man’s response. 

Edelgard and Dmitri wore matching expressions of shock at Seteth’s stark impropriety, and Jeralt’s face was an echo of Rhea’s, some sort of grim determination playing across the set of his mouth. He refused to meet Seteth’s eyes. 

Byleth’s expression alone remained open and easy. 

Seteth met her gaze, which held no malice at his rudeness, just a blank curiosity and some sort of otherworldly awareness that felt familiar and impossible to place at the same time. Her pretty mouth was set, but softly, and whether she was considering Seteth or condemning him, he couldn’t tell. 

Seteth conceded, beaten. “So be it.” 

He turned to address Byleth directly for the first time, another wave of distaste--and something else that he was loathe to consider--coursing through him. “If you are to be our new professor, I hope you understand well the gravity of the position you’ve accepted.” 

She nodded.

He paused, frowning. “The Archbishop has placed an unprecedented amount of trust in you, someone we know so little about.” Seteth knew that he should temper his scathing tone, but he just...could not bring himself to shield her from his true sentiments. “See to it that you do not let her down.”

Byleth swallowed, and he watched the gesture play out on her throat, aware, it seemed, of every last inch of this woman’s skin.

She bowed to him then. “I will not.”

Seteth nodded and turned to leave. “I have much to attend to before classes begin.” He returned the new professor’s bow. “Please inform me once you have decided on a house.”

Byleth nodded. “I’ve already decided.” 

“Oh?” Seteth asked. He paused, pulled into stillness while he waited for her response.

Now every set of eyes in the courtyard was on Byleth. 

Although he couldn’t explain why, Seteth felt as though the fate of all of Fodlan--himself included--hung in the balance of this question. 

Seconds ticked past. Byleth swallowed again. “I choose the Black Eagles.”

Edelgard’s face broke into sincere delight, the first genuine expression of emotion Seteth had witnessed from the princess. Claude nodded once, accepting his loss. Dmitri turned, attempting to hide his reaction, but Seteth could sense his deep disappointment regardless.

“So be it,” Seteth replied for the second time that day. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.” 

He strode away across the courtyard, his cape and his pent-up frustration billowing out behind him.

_Goddess save us all._

_***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fwiw, I think seteth has a lot of bad days in his future. (but some really good days after that. maybe.)


	3. a glimpse of glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for more byleth. who is definitely the ONLY PROFESSOR who has to bunk with the students. Was I the only one who spent my real life time checking in all those rooms to see where Manuela and Hanneman lived just to discover that those bitches didn't have to sleep with the kids?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing a battle that is turn-based is kind of weird, but you know, i did the best i could.

Byleth awoke, stretching into the corners of her bed. Morning had not yet come, and she blinked in the dusky pre-dawn, waiting for her mind to catch up with her new reality. 

It was atypical enough to be waking up in a bed two mornings in a row. But to be staying here at the monastery--as a professor--for the indeterminate future? Byleth simply didn’t have a frame of reference to truly consider what she’d signed on to in that courtyard yesterday.

Especially as she’d become more and more aware, with each passing conversation, how strange she was compared to the others. Speaking to the students, she’d immediately seen what she’d failed to notice before: her life had been spectacularly unusual, for nobles and commoners alike.

Since she’d been old enough to hold a sword, her father had treated her more like a partner than a daughter. And based on the strange reactions she’d received yesterday, most people in Fodlan did actually know their own age. 

Yesterday had awakened her to her own bizarre upbringing, and Byleth wasn’t exactly sure what to do with this new information.

One thing was for certain: the prospect of staying here and learning how to navigate the politics of the academy and befriend the people within it was spectacularly intimidating, even if it had been the right decision.

She sighed and rolled over, trying to convince herself to get out of bed. 

If she was honest with herself, she’d rather take down an entire battalion on her own than spend an afternoon drinking tea with someone like Ferdinand von Aegir. 

She knew she could teach Edelgard and her classmates how to fight. But she wasn’t sure if she could learn how to fit in--with the students or her peers. Let alone in a place like Garreg Mach, with a thousand years of history and dogma and social conventions to follow.

And although Rhea seemed ready enough to welcome her with open arms, she could already tell that she’d have to work to win some of the others over. Rhea’s advisor in particular. 

She wasn’t normally the kind to let the obnoxiously pious get under her skin, but Seteth’s extreme resistance to her appointment still kind of stung.

Even now, alone in her bed, she felt a flush of heat in her cheeks as she remembered how awkward it had felt to stand there while he’d argued with Rhea...about her. 

He didn’t even _know_ her. She couldn’t possibly be worse than the last person they’d hired--she’d never abandon her students to danger, and she’d only just met them. 

There was something about her that must have rubbed him the wrong way. And truth be told, she wasn’t all that fond of his uptight nature herself.

But then she remembered the almost tactile sensation of being assessed by him--his piercing gaze, not undressing her, exactly, but searching within her for something that Byleth couldn’t know if he’d found. 

The memory of that experience brought heat to her cheeks as well. In a different circumstance, she’d invite that kind of close scrutiny as a prelude to a night in bed. 

His green eyes had not been unattractive. And she’d been surprised to see yet another person with the same green hair as Sothis. That alone intrigued her. 

But she couldn’t say she was entirely comfortable nursing even a flicker of attraction to a man who was so deeply ensconced in the church--not after what Jeralt had said about Rhea yesterday. 

Plus, he’d made his dislike of her abundantly clear. While she was wholly uncertain about her ability to fit in socially, Byleth had never been short of willing partners to warm her bed. In that regard, she didn’t have to compromise.

Besides, there was no way the second-in-command of the Church of Seiros wasn’t a warrior of the cloth, and Byleth liked her lovers just a touch more...feral.

And topping of the litany of reasons this was a bad idea was this: she didn’t want to cause trouble. And trying to bed Seteth would be a fast track to trouble. She was conspicuous enough, here, as she already was. 

_“Wishful thinking, my dear,”_ the voice inside her head admonished. _“You cause trouble wherever you go.”_

_So you say, Sothis._

_“Best to get up and face the day ahead and whatever it may hold for you, for good or for ill.”_

Byleth happened to agree. 

She stood up, stretching into the room. She had to admit that her current bed was preferable to a bedroll, but not by much. 

It certainly wasn’t as nice as her father’s quarters on the third floor of the monastery. She was hoping that they’d move her upstairs too, as soon as everything was in order. 

She hadn’t bothered unpacking, so all of her possessions still remained in her saddle pack, tightly folded within. She pulled out a fresh set of tights and rolled them over her legs before sliding her well-worn leather shorts and boots over them.

She slid into her corset, lacing it up the side, before laying on the collar and shrugging on her coat. The last step, and her least favorite, was easing into the gauntlets; the metal of her defensive equipment was cold and uncomfortable before it had a chance to warm up against her skin.

As she’d dressed, the sky outside had begun to lighten, shifting from gray to yellow to the first hints of blue, illuminating the space inside her room. 

The small mirror by the door reflected her image back to her, and she found it satisfactory after taking a moment to smudge a line of kohl above her eyelashes. 

She strapped on her dagger. She was ready to face the day. 

Breathing in, she swung the door open and almost cried out with alarm into the cold morning air. Rhea’s advisor was inches away from her door, his fist raised as if to knock. 

The surprise she felt on her face was reflected on his. They both took a step back, increasing the space between them almost reflexively.

Byleth was not unaware that she had just decided that this man was unfit for anything besides proving wrong. But now, with his face unguarded and expressive, she was almost more shocked by her upswell of attraction to him than his unexpected presence outside of her door. 

There was a peculiar softness to him when he was not enforcing some rigid sense of authority.

That small window into the wholeness of the creature before her awakened something within Byleth. Something within her dearly wanted to make this man come undone. 

Byleth tried to reign herself in.

No matter how he felt about her personally, Seteth didn’t seem to be the kind of man to muddy the waters of his professional responsibilities with the kind of extracurriculars Byleth was now imagining--the exposed arch of his neck when she grasped the hair at his nape, those eyes on every inch of her skin, the sound of his voice panting her name...

She hoped the blush she was feeling under her collar didn’t show on her cheeks.

Seteth was, obviously, the first to recover. “Professor.” He bowed, schooling his features back into place. “I’m sorry to have startled you. I come bearing a message from Lady Rhea.”

“Acknowledged.” She bowed in return, allowing the formality to give her an opportunity to settle her own reaction. “Please, continue.” 

“Formal lessons are slated to begin the first week of Harpstring Moon. As this is our final free day between your arrival and the start of classes, we’ve arranged for the mock battle to take place this afternoon.”

“Understood. Thank you.” Byleth was suddenly glad she’d insisted on Edelgard’s honest assessment of each of her classmates yesterday; she already knew who she’d field later today.

Seteth continued. “Hopefully this gives you adequate time to prepare. Lady Rhea is eager to see the skills you bring to this position.” 

Byleth suspected it was truly Seteth’s curiosity she would be satisfying, not Rhea’s. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage. If there’s nothing else--”

“One other thing.” When Byleth gestured for him to continue, he did. “It’s been decided that you are to retain your current quarters for the coming school year.”

Byleth kept her face carefully neutral. “I am to live with the students?”

Seteth nodded. “It will be easier for everyone that way.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and continued. “Your students need your guidance and supervision. It wouldn’t do to leave them deprived of your wisdom and insight whenever they might need it, would it, Professor?” 

Byleth would not have chosen this. She knew she would draw scrutiny enough--she was hoping her personal life would not also be on display. But his logic made a certain amount of sense. 

“I suppose not. I’ll gather the rest of my things and move them in later today.” 

Seteth looked almost relieved at her response. “You have my thanks.” He bowed. “I am sure you have much to arrange before this afternoon. I’ll take my leave.”

Torn between relief and dismay and that strange, yawning desire, she watched him depart. 

*

Jeralt’s words of advice about how to win this mock battle had been wholly unnecessary. 

Byleth didn’t know what Rhea and the others were playing at, but if the Officer’s Academy truly housed Fodlan’s best, they were all in trouble.

The other two professors at the academy had minimal battle experience and a determined refusal to actively participate in the exercise, and Claude and Dmitri’s unschooled tactics were easily overcome, even with her own students’ lack of combat training. 

In fact, Byleth suspected the only way she could have lost would have been to ask Bernadetta or Lindhart to take the field alone. Even Edelgard solo would have had a fair shot against the other two houses.

As she swung her practice sword through the air, knocking Dedue’s knees out from under him and tagging him out of the battle, she wondered if Seteth’s concerns about professorial competence might be more appropriately applied to the teachers who were already here.

She looked across the field as Dedue shuffled off the pitch. It looked like Hubert and Edelgard were cleaning up the remainder of the Golden Deer.

As the Imperial princess approached the heir apparent of the Leicester Alliance, he shouted something at her across the grass between them. 

Byleth couldn’t hear what he’d said, but she definitely saw the flush of anger and embarrassment that colored Edelgard’s cheeks right before she clocked him with her training axe. 

_Fool. She’s not one to make angry._ Claude picked up his bow and excused himself from the pitch as well, soundly defeated. 

Byleth took stock of the remaining combatants: Hanneman had holed himself up in the small fortress on the eastern edge of the field. He was visibly fretting over Dmitri, who had allowed himself to be surrounded by Caspar, Petra, and Dorothea. Her view of the situation was blocked by the trees, but she could see enough to know that her students had the upper hand. 

Byleth called over to Petra, “You three take care of Dmitri. I’ll handle Hanneman.”

The girl nodded and crouched to fire, striking Dmitri in the side with a blunt arrow. _Almost there._

Byleth turned her attention to the final professor as she moved along the shadows laid down by a group of trees, hoping his attention would remain elsewhere. 

To the north of the pitch, she could see Rhea, her father, and Seteth atop a podium of sorts, watching the action unfold beneath them. The other students and the defeated milled about below. 

Seteth was standing half a step away from the others and angled toward her position, and Byleth suspected he’d been observing her this entire time. He quickly turned away as soon as he noticed her watching him in return. She stared back openly, watching as a smaller girl with vibrant green hair placed a hand on his arm. 

He shook his head at the green-headed girl and kept his body facing away from her, confirming Byleth’s suspicion. 

Instead of nerves, she felt relief. The battlefield was Byleth’s glory. _Let him watch._

She steadied her breathing and crept further along the edge of the forest. She knew she was still visible in Hanneman’s peripheral vision, but in a few more steps, she’d be safely behind him. 

As long as she kept quiet and Hanneman’s attention stayed on Dmitri, she’d be able to take him out with one strike. 

She watched Dorothea catch Dmitri with a well-aimed fire spell. Byleth sprinted up the stairs to the fortress three at a time during the resulting chaos, confident Seteth would be able to follow her dark form against the ivory of the stone while Hanneman remained clueless.

However, when Hanneman heard her footfall on the fortress floor, which was more responsive to the sound of her boots than Byleth had anticipated, he turned, firing a spell wildly over his shoulder. 

She rolled, dodging it, and came up with her dagger in her hand, clasping the older man tightly to her chest and pressing her blade against his neck.

She found the outcome acceptable, if not ideal.

He laughed, a jovial sound. “Oh, I can see how plainly I was outmatched by you, Professor. I submit! No need to threaten my life any further.”

Byleth released him, and they descended the stairs together. Her class joined her and they headed towards the podium as one. 

As soon as they were within earshot, Hanneman called to Rhea. “The new Professor has defeated us soundly! We have a lot to learn from this one, it seems.”

Rhea smiled, and Byleth accepted her pleased expression for the reward it was intended to be. 

She scanned the podium for Seteth, but he was nowhere to be found. Both he and the green-haired girl had already gone. 

Byleth swallowed a strange sort of disappointment. 

Edelgard approached her, her face beaming. “That was brilliant, Professor,” she gushed breathlessly. “We won! How shall we celebrate?”

“Let’s head to the dining hall for dessert. My treat.” 

Jeralt joined Byleth as she watched the rest of the class follow Edelgard off the pitch and back towards the monastery walls. Caspar was already retelling his exploits to the rest of the crew. 

Jeralt clapped his daughter on the shoulder. “Nicely done, kid.” 

“Thank you.” She regarded him in turn. “Honestly, we shouldn’t have been worried at all.” 

“I’m worried.” He met her eyes, serious. “I still don’t know what Rhea is up to.” 

“Are you sure that Rhea’s really the problem?” 

“What do you mean?”

Byleth paused, considering. “What about Seteth?”

Jeralt laughed. “I’m not sure what crawled up his ass and died, but I don’t think he’s a threat to anything besides your ego.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s a physical threat,” she clarified.

“Neither do I, kid. He’s a weak-ass caster under those robes, if I’ve ever seen one.” 

Byleth laughed despite herself, her tension dissipating slightly for the first time since they’d arrived. “In that case, I can definitely take him.”

“I know you can, Byleth,” Jeralt said. “Still, watch your back.”

She nodded. “That goes for you too, old man.”

“Damn straight. I want to live long enough to see you put that old codger in his place.” 

They returned to Garreg Mach to celebrate, Byleth all the while wondering what exactly it meant that her uncontested victory on the pitch didn’t quite outweigh her disappointment over her failure to capture--and keep--the full attention of Rhea’s pretentious green-haired advisor.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, Byleth? it means you most definitely have the hots for Seteth. even though he is kind of a spectacular asshole.
> 
> (thanks to my real-life s-support for pointing out that byleth and seteth could not have meaningful eye contact-based interactions when they're like 100 meters away on a battlefield)
> 
> h/t to admiralolz on reddit for the seteth / wyvern / smoothie comic, encapsulating my exact journey on my first playthrough from "oh great, another fucking bishop" to "holy shit, seteth rides a WYVERN!?" (cue five hundred hearts and up arrows from me)


	4. the cathedral’s unholy quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good thing those statues look nothing like you and your daughter, eh, Cichol?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major spoilers for seteth/flayn. (also, we're starting to get explicit.)

The first bells of the morning chimed in the distance, and Seteth roused himself, rueing the recent spate of late nights. 

He knew from his long years that it was critical to his productivity to maintain his morning routine, so he rolled out of bed, pulling the sheets straight and smoothing the wrinkles out of the coverlet. 

He headed to the basin in his chambers, splashing cold water on his tired face.

In the past, the start of lessons at the Officer’s Academy had eased his workload as teachers and students alike fell into the routine of a new year. 

But since Alois had returned to the monastery with the new professor in tow three weeks ago, Seteth’s responsibilities--and the litany of concerns that needed his attention--had only increased. 

And now there were bandits desecrating the Red Canyon. Zanado.

It had been too long since he’d lived there--and Seteth had lost too much--for him to consider Zanado his home, as Rhea did. But the wanton destruction and abuse of his homeland still plagued him.

Another administrative and martial task to bear.

He inspected himself in the mirror above the basin, meeting his own eyes. He had to admit, here, in the privacy of his own room, that his exhaustion wasn’t due to the increase in paperwork alone, however. 

He’d thought exiling Byleth and her bared abdomen and her ocean-blue eyes to the student dormitories would at least give him peace from her absurdity in the margins of the day. 

But even now, while he was alone in his chambers, while meters of stone and grass and air separated her person from his, her face swam in his imagination every time he closed his eyes. 

It was the worst, in fact, in the small hours of the night, when his body warred between need and the release of sleep, between pleasure and rest. 

Last night, he’d attempted to satisfy himself after lying awake for hours, using the friction of his own hand to bring himself to a frenzied climax. He’d given himself permission to imagine what pleased him most in the relative safety of his own mind--her eyes, the fierce set of her mouth while she was fighting, the soft curve of her breast between her collar and her corset, oh  _ goddess _ , her eyes--and his ragged breath had echoed off the stone of his walls as he spilled himself into his bedclothes, whispering her name. 

_ Pathetic.  _ He shook his head at his reflection, dismayed. 

Instead of quenching his need, his carnal indulgence had only made it more difficult to banish her from his mind. He was captivated by her. And agonized by her. In equal measure. 

The two conflicting emotions buzzed inside of him like bees, vying for dominance, and the discord within rattled him to his core. 

He tried to convince himself that this agony was only the result of these long, celibate years, even as he knew, in the deepest way, that his inablility to shake her from his thoughts meant trouble.

In the gray light of the early morning, he dressed, pulling his pressed tunic over the linen shirt beneath and tucking the bottom of his trousers neatly into his polished boots. Finally, he settled his simple circlet over his head, smoothing his hair over the slight gold band and purposefully obscuring his pointed ears.

That secret alone was scandalous enough that he knew he couldn’t indulge his baser instincts. Any physical intimacy whatsoever put him and Rhea and Flayn at risk. He couldn’t abide that kind of weakness in himself. Not again. No matter how tempting.

Willing himself to put all thoughts of Byleth and Flayn’s certain death from his mind, he gathered his remaining supplies and prepared to leave, heading first to the cathedral. 

Although his routine was always the same, the serene quiet and mind-settling practice of his morning devotions seemed fundamental today.

As the sun peeked over the mountains surrounding the monastery, he made his way from his quarters to the cathedral. Walking along the rampart, he breathed deeply, savoring the smell of pine, the crisp morning air, the view that stretched over Fodlan’s natural beauty for miles. 

Although he could never truly relax, not while there were individuals in Fodlan who were a threat to Flayn, these morning walks were some of the most peaceful moments of his life. 

Seteth had learned to appreciate the simple pleasures where he could find them, and the stillness of the moment and the beauty of his surroundings soothed him, pressing his frayed edges back into place. 

He stepped into the cathedral, feeling the embrace of the cool quiet within. Already the benches held the devout, their heads bowed in prayer, and the monastery’s staff and supplicants murmured quietly in the wings. 

He passed the choir director, who was setting up for today’s rehearsal, and headed toward the back corner of the chapel. The statues of the saints were in poor repair, but he would start his day as he always did, offering his devotion to the statue of his daughter, praying to the goddess for her safety and renewing his vow to protect her.

To his delight, the statue of the saint was dwarfing Cethleen herself. “Good morning, Flayn. I am surprised to see you up so early.”

She stood between her statue and his, her hand on Saint Cichol’s foot, her lovely face gazing up at the statue’s visage, which was, thankfully, quite unlike his very own. She turned to face her father. 

“Good morning, brother. My thoughts were troubled, and I was struggling to sleep. I came here rather than wake you.” 

“I am never bothered by your presence, Flayn,” Seteth responded softly, placing his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You should always feel as though you can come to me for help.”

She smiled at him, and Seteth’s heart surged with love. 

“I did seek you out, brother.” She patted the base of the statue. “It is not hard to imagine the counsel of Saint Cichol, having received it directly from his lips my entire life. I had no need to interrupt your slumber.”

Seteth shook his head gently in warning, too charmed by her admission to caution her further. “Flayn.”

“I know. I know. It’s not safe.”

Seteth’s brow furrowed. “So very little is, these days, Flayn, not when--”

“Yes, brother. Yes. I know.” Flayn’s round face held the sharper edges of her annoyance, as it had so often lately. Seteth ached to reach out and smooth her brow, but he knew from experience that such ministrations to her irritation would only make things worse.

As she’d integrated into life here in the monastery, it was becoming harder and harder to keep her safe. She was interested in knowing everyone and careless in her speech--it seemed more and more frequent that he had to remove her from situations before she could endanger them both. 

From her unconsidered conversation with Jeralt at the mock battle to Claude’s flirtations in the hallway just yesterday, it seemed like some dire threat hung around every turn. 

How could he not worry?

“Flayn. I know I am asking a lot from you. I just...I want to ensure that it is safe to remain.” Unbidden, his imaginings of Byleth surfaced in his mind. 

_ Someone as beautiful as Byleth would never take someone as old and as miserable as you to her bed, even if it weren’t verboten,  _ he thought, employing harsh cruelty to shut himself down.  _ You have already been terribly unkind to her, and not only because of the duties of your position. _

Something of his self-flagellation must have shown on his face, because Flayn’s resentment dissolved and she wrapped her arms around him. Seteth resolved once again to do everything in his power to make sure she was kept safe. 

As she pulled away, Seteth felt Flayn’s attention shift. He heard the soft fall of footsteps behind him and turned to see Byleth herself approaching. 

His features flattened. He’d come here to clear his mind, not distract it. 

“Oh! Good morning, Professor!” Flayn smiled widely at Byleth as she stepped into the antechamber, joining them among the statues. “What brings you here?”

Byleth’s voice was quiet as she responded. “Merely exploring the cathedral. There’s still much of Garreg Mach I have yet to see.”

Byleth looked closely at him and Flayn. Seteth thought he could discern a sliver of curiosity as her eyes flicked from his face to his daughter’s and then back again. 

The professor spoke. “I’m sorry--am I interrupting something?” 

He responded, “Not at all, Professor. Flayn and I were just attending to the statues of the saints.” He gestured to them in turn, remembering the individuals who’d inspired these tired old statues nearly a thousand years ago. 

He was grateful for the second time today that they did not bear a closer likeness to reality. “Saint Indech, Saint Macuil, Saint Cichol, and--”

“Saint Cethleen,” Flayn finished, beaming. “Do you have a favorite, Professor?”

Byleth shook her head. “I’m wholly unfamiliar with the saints.” 

Seteth scrutinized her. The same part of him that wished to reveal itself to her wide-eyed gaze was scorned by her ignorance of his former glory. “Surely you encountered some details about the history of the Church in your far-reaching travels.” 

“I did not.”

“Surely your father mentioned--”   


She shook her head again. “I don’t believe he did.”

“Hmm. Now that you are a member of the church, you ought to familiarize yourself with its teachings,” Seteth said. 

He knew that his sour reaction was a result of his injured pride, but the importance of the Church’s teachings were worthy cover for his true sentiments: there was an insistent, primal, dangerous part of himself who wanted to be known by this woman. 

_ You must maintain control,  _ he reminded himself. Again.  _ Too much is at stake. _

She nodded. “I will.”

Flayn reached out for her hand. “I would be happy to share all I know about Saint Cethleen with you, Professor.”

Seteth’s eyes locked with his daughter’s, flashing a look of warning. Flayn deflated slightly, but she did not drop the professor’s hand.

Byleth, again, looked carefully between them both. The slight narrowing of her eyes told Seteth that she could not determine the exact nature of what had transpired. 

Best to keep it that way. 

And then Seteth heard himself speaking before he had time to consider the wisdom of his own offer. “And if there’s anything you care to know about the others, feel free to seek me out.” 

Flayn’s face snapped in his direction, contemplative, while Byleth’s eyes widened with surprise. “Hm. I think I will, once I’ve returned from the Red Canyon.” 

Now Seteth felt a flicker of surprise. He would not have expected her to accept the invitation. “As you wish.”

Her eyes were unreadable, as always, as she replied. “Thank you, Flayn. Seteth. I must be off--I promised Mercedes I would help the counselor with her duties today, and I’d prefer not to be late.” 

Seteth nodded. “Of course.” His stomach was already in knots as he considered an hour alone with her, maybe more, dancing around what he personally knew about the saints and the generally accepted common knowledge. 

He spoke again. “Best of luck in the Red Canyon, Professor.”

“Thank you. I’ll report back as soon as I return.” She bowed then, excusing herself. 

Seteth exhaled through his nose as he watched her depart.  _ I truly did not expect her to accept that ill-considered invitation.  _

The fact that she had in fact accepted spun up a galaxy of possibilities, some of which were not entirely unpleasant.

Traitorously, his mind replayed last night’s carnal musings; he was reminded almost urgently of their unsatisfying conclusion. For a moment, he considered how much more gratifying it would be to release this...tension inside of her, surrounded by her warmth.

_ Unacceptable. _

But even as he chastised himself, shifting again to hide his arousal, his eyes sought her out as she crossed the expanse of the cathedral, her footsteps audible on the polished marble floor.

Her calves were round and strong over the top of her boots, and her fluttering coat did little to hide the delicious curve of her torso and shapely rear, even from behind. Even the way her shoulders were thrown back, filling her space fully, excited him. 

Her unconscious sexuality and strange, confident presence would be his undoing.

Plus, her  _ clothing _ . While Seteth had no dogmatic attachment to modesty, Byleth’s uniform continued to provoke his ire. 

He considered the fact that it was within his rights to enforce the dress code for the Officer’s Academy. His face flushed imagining  _ that _ conversation; there was no way he could torture himself so, even if it was perhaps the more dutiful decision. 

The reasonable part of him noted that he did not similarly admonish Manuela, who left much less of her own endowment to the imagination. The reasonable part also admitted that Manuela was much less prone to inspiring painful distraction in his weaker moments. 

_ I have far too much to accomplish to waste time explaining the fundamentals of the faith to the new professor,  _ he thought, seizing upon the convenient lie. _ When she returns from her mission, I will simply have to rescind my offer. _

He crossed his arms, resolute, but he could not pull his eyes away from her, and he knew his gaze was betraying his more fundamental desires.

He could feel Flayn’s eyes on him for as long as he continued to watch Byleth’s retreating form. 

When the professor turned into an alcove and out of the line of his sight, he felt his daughter’s hand on his arm. “Brother, are you quite all right?”

“Yes, Flayn.” He exhaled again. “I am fine.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seteth is most definitely *not* okay. 
> 
> (okay, this is the last one for the moment--I have like three more half drafted, but spoiler alert: I am too type-a to shoot from the hip. hopefully soon.)


	5. grappling with the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> byleth finds seteth trying to work out some frustration in the training hall. spoiler alert: it doesn't work.
> 
> spoilers about some of Seteth's...anatomy. No humping yet. But soon. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please allow me my axe-wielding Seteth fantasies, okay, even if we all know he gets an in-game magic spear
> 
> (also, ETA: Sindaria's very hot sparring scene def got in my head here; after trying every other synonym for "yield" in the thesaurus, I'm going to yield as well and acknowledge the unintentional inspiration, with boatloads of gratitude)

Byleth stalked the monastery grounds in the long rays of the afternoon sun. The courtyards were all but deserted--all of the students, save hers, were still in their final class of the day--and Byleth savored the sweet quiet of the green spaces of Garreg Mach.

Rhea’s advisor had been unusually unavailable in the weeks after her return from the Red Canyon, and Byleth was intent on rectifying that circumstance today.

After she’d failed to connect with Seteth after the lunchtime faculty meeting, she’d dismissed her class early. She needed to discuss the pile of outstanding work that had amassed while Seteth had been avoiding her. 

But she had to find the man first. 

She had armed herself with a stack of fulfilled requests--all in his elegant, slender hand--and a satchel full of her notes and his requested accoutrements.

Byleth couldn’t imagine why he had offered her an invitation and then ignored her for most of the following month, but she was tired of watching him skulk out of crowded rooms and meetings to prevent her from--what? Talking to him?

When she’d watched him slip out of the room earlier, the closed-off look on his face had made her want to shake him. Something about his response to her frustrated her to the point of irrationality.

She didn’t know if she wanted to drive him wild or be the sole recipient of his attention, but whatever she was feeling had its hooks in deep.

Part of her wished that she’d been able to shake her strange attraction, but if she was honest about  _ that _ , she liked the way it made her feel...something.

How had she never noticed before how dull her life had been? Why had it never mattered before? Byleth couldn’t say.

Sothis had said that time revealed all things, but Byleth truly had never had so many questions.

Walking past the gardens, she peered toward the stables. He wasn’t there either, and now that she’d thought about it, she couldn’t remember Seteth ever mentioning the horses before. 

_ Perhaps the cathedral,  _ she thought, remembering that she’d found him there with Flayn once before. 

She turned left, instead, walking along the pathway that led to the knights’ housing, and heard someone laying into a training mannequin in the Knights’ Hall with enough vigor that the hollow thud of the weapon reverberated out through the stone corridor. 

_ That’s strange--Dmitri and Dedue should still be in class.  _ She couldn’t recall any other knight using the equipment in the hall. Most of the Knights of Serios joined the students in the training grounds for their routines, as it was larger and rather more refreshing being out of doors. 

As she moved closer, she could hear masculine sounds of exertion, and she couldn’t imagine who it could be  _ besides  _ Dmitri, as no one else fought with that kind of desperation--

She turned the corner. 

Peering into the dark of the hallway, she could only just make out the reflection of the torchlight on a head of emerald-green hair. 

_ Seteth.  _ Suddenly, she couldn’t quite breathe. She quieted the sound of her boots on the flagstones as she approached so as not to disturb him. 

Rhea’s archbishop was absolutely not a man of the cloth. No priest or bishop wielded an axe with that much confidence. 

Byleth felt the scene before her wash over her like a wave. 

He hefted the weight of the weapon in his right hand alone, and exhaling through his nose, he tore into the equipment like a man possessed.

Seteth fought with his back to her; the axe he was wielding thunked into the burlap-covered meat of the dummy’s torso. His linen undershirt was damp through with sweat, and his feet were bare under the hem of his cropped pants.

Vaguely, some part of Byleth’s mind registered that the same style looked entirely different on Ignatz. Seteth--instead of appearing bookish and underdressed--looked the part of some primal war god. 

Slender, strong, barefoot--visceral. So different than his behavior and comportment day-to-day.

Who was this man in front of her? For all his talk about her unknowable past, he was certainly just as mysterious. 

_ Takes one to know one, I suppose,  _ Byleth thought with some amusement.

She could see his back muscles shift under the clinging fabric, but his forearms remained sheathed in a linen version of his standard tunic--the puffy sleeves ending in an extended cuff, allowing for both movement and modesty. 

Byleth imagined undressing him then, to see what lingered underneath.

Standing in the doorway to the room, her eyes had adjusted to the relative dim, and she could see his circlet on his carefully folded clothing, set on a chair to his left, where it glittered in the firelight.

His hair was pulled back off his face, and she noticed that his everyday hairstyle concealed a pair of ears that were curiously tapered at the end. Byleth knew there was a story there, some secret history, but the strangeness of them only made him more attractive.

She shifted, settling in to watch him for as long as he didn’t notice her. Quietly, she placed her overladen satchel next to her after easing it off her shoulder.

His routine seemed to be ten or twelve maneuvers long, and once completed, he’d shift his weight and run through it again, his bare feet moving confidently over the soft dirt of the arena floor. 

Knowing the amount of effort she put into her own physical rehearsals, she was impressed with his stamina. For as much as he was sweating, she could tell this hadn’t been his first exercise, and he was still moving with a depth of power appropriate for the battlefield itself.

She was impressed, and a strange sort of need blossomed deep in her belly. No matter whether Seteth would be amenable to her imaginings or not, she knew part of her wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d enticed this verdant-haired contradiction to her bed.

She imagined explaining such a relationship to her father, and squirmed a little despite herself. Seteth was almost certainly closer to her father’s age--or at least, the age her father appeared to be--than he was to hers...or what she assumed it to be, anyway.

Not that she could pinpoint Seteth’s age from his physical condition. He was clearly still in his prime, with a maturity of form that her students still lacked, either from youth or lack of practice. 

Like she’d noticed in Dmitri, there was a rawness to his fighting that she could perceive but not understand. Her own strange, disconnected experience allowed her to recognize it, but she couldn’t personally relate. 

After the fifth repetition of his exercise, Byleth could tell Seteth was beginning to run out of steam. His movements became more precise after he’d worked out whatever fury he’d been expressing. 

After the seventh repetition, he stopped to mop the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, plastering his green hair to his forehead. 

After the tenth repetition, Byleth spoke. “Come here often?”

Seteth’s wild about-face told her he’d been in such a flow state that he hadn’t noticed her attention. She savored her upper hand for the moment it lasted.

He schooled his shock almost immediately, turning it into a sneer. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching your class, Professor?”

“I dismissed them. To find you.” She held up the sheaf of papers she’d been carrying around the monastery. “Lucky I did. I wouldn’t have expected to discover you here, demolishing the practice dummies during seventh hour.”

He laughed, but offered no explanation. 

“No wonder I haven’t been able to find you.” She pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on and met him in the center of the arena.

Seteth didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he gestured to the papers with his weapon. “Are those my requests?” 

“They are.” 

“Ah.” Seteth hung his axe on the dummy’s shoulder and went to grab a towel. “Give me a moment, if you would, while I put myself together.” 

“Oh, no need. If you’re not finished, I can wait. I cleared my calendar for this.”

He laughed, ruefully, his face covered by the towel. “I ought to be done, truthfully. These old bones of mine will feel this in the morning already.”

She watched him towel off his forehead. “You move well,” Byleth stated, more of an observation than a compliment, although it was that too.

“Thank you.” Seteth nodded, accepting her assessment.

“I don’t know that I’ve seen someone wield an axe with so much power and control. Edelgard is more dexterous than you, but you use your weight and size to your advantage when you attack in a way that she’s unable to replicate. And Caspar is a stick-wielding baboon next to your finesse.” 

Seteth smiled. “Let’s not exaggerate. I do well enough for my age and for the amount of deskwork that is my responsibility. It wouldn’t do for me to allow my fighting condition to lapse, however.” 

“Hmm.” Byleth paused, deciding where to take the conversation next. 

She went straight to the point. “Why have you been avoiding me lately?”

Seteth met her eyes over the towel, and enough of his face was uncovered that she could see the blush rise in his cheeks. “I’ve not--”

“Don’t dishonor my observations, Seteth. The first month, you were everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without running into you. Last three weeks, I couldn’t find you anywhere. I actually had to collect a second harvest of the boa fruit you’d requested when the first batch went bad.”

Seteth huffed, stalling for time while he wiped off the back of his neck. 

Byleth let the silence play out, savoring the shift in power and the raw heat of him radiating into the space, even as she was a little unnerved by the intensity of her own response to his proximity. 

Playing for time, he brought the towel to wipe off the side of his face once again, grazing his ear, and Byleth watched as his face revealed his realization. 

She nodded when his eyes flicked over to meet hers. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

In two blinks, the towel was on the ground and Seteth was immediate, his hand wrapped around her wrist, which she’d brought up instinctively to protect herself. “Mention this to no one.” 

“Your training schedule?” she asked, knowing full well what he meant. She could feel the heat of his fingers on her skin--she both regretted and celebrated the fact that she’d neglected to wear her gauntlets this morning. 

His face was close enough that she could see the striation of his irises: darker green flecks ringed his pupils, which were wide with emotion.

“No, Professor.” He reached up with his other hand and pulled the leather strap out of his hair with a fierce jerk, letting it fall over his unhuman, elegant ears once again. “You know to what I refer.”

“Ah. Your ears, then.” Byleth thought again of the green-haired girl: Were Sothis’s ears shaped the same way? Byleth would have to pay closer attention the next time she appeared. 

She kept her face neutral as she responded. “They’re unusual--just like your hair.” 

“You must not tell a soul about what you’ve seen here.” His voice was urgent, fierce. Demanding.

“And if I do?” Byleth countered. His face was still inches away from hers, and she watched as the fury returned to his gaze.

“I will not hold back.” 

She dropped her voice, trying to mask her own heated reaction at his response. Her wires must be crossed somewhere inside, for his urgent anger to be turning her on so acutely. “Are you threatening me, Seteth?” 

He drew closer, and his grip on her wrist tightened. “I’ve killed for Flayn’s safety before. I will not hesitate to do so again.”

Byleth couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. “Okay, Hubert.”  _ But wait--Flayn? _ Byleth felt her confusion reflect on her face. “Wait. What do your ears have to do with Flayn’s safety?”

The question caused Seteth to pull back, releasing her wrist. Although the contact was broken, the tension between them remained. “Nothing.” 

He pushed his hair down over his ears with both his hands in a gesture that was more desperate than rageful, and Byleth felt some sympathy for this man and his secrets. “It has nothing...to do with Flayn. I’ve said too much already. Please, Professor.” 

“Hm.” Byleth considered. She didn’t know who would even value the information she’d discovered, but this was an amount of power over Seteth that she couldn’t just relinquish.

She named her price, feeling like Felix as she did. “Spar with me. If you win, you have my word.” 

“And if I lose?” 

Byleth shrugged.

Seteth’s eyes darkened. “So be it.” 

“The loser shall be the first to yield.” Byleth placed the stack of papers she’d been holding down on the chair next to Seteth’s circlet. “We should make it quick, though, unless you want an audience. Bells chime in a quarter hour...and we both know where Dmitri is going to head immediately after class.” 

Seteth nodded once. “Let’s begin.”

Byleth crouched low and began circling, calculating her advantage. 

Seteth was easy to rile, but stronger in a straight matchup. 

Byleth suspected she had more grappling experience, however, and she was certainly more nimble. Especially after Seteth had worked himself through his own paces as thoroughly as he had this afternoon.

She took a page out of Claude’s playbook. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

Seteth feinted right and Byleth stepped back, avoiding. “I do not. I cannot. I do not know you, or your history, and unfortunately, too much is at stake.” 

“Flayn’s safety.” Byleth watched his movements, coming in on his left. She landed a quick jab on his bicep, which was firmer under her fist than she would have expected yesterday. “Your secrets.”

Seteth countered wildly, and Byleth took an elbow to the sternum, knocking out some of her air. 

He responded once she was again arm's-length away. “Yes. Do not distract me.” He moved in, trying to land a blow to her raised forearm, but she dodged.

“Oh, is my ploy working?” she asked, laughing lightly, moving in toward the left again, taking advantage of his slower side to land a few more punches.

“No.” His face reddened though, betraying him. 

Byleth moved forward, slipping in close to him before pushing her own elbow into his stomach with an intentional jab.

She held his shoulder so he couldn’t double over, and then pushed her own shoulder into his chest as she released him, knocking him back, winded.

“Liar.” Byleth smiled, just a little. “I knew you were overprotective and overbearing from the moment I met you. You’re hiding something, though. And you’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are, Seteth.”

He grimaced, and Byleth could see some of his emotional agony reflected on his face. 

“Enough.” Seteth charged, anticipating her dodge and catching her squarely, wrapping himself around her in a bear hug, trapping her arms next to her sides. 

She struggled, but Seteth was strong, and she couldn’t pull herself free after a count, so she tried another tactic. 

Using her lack of height to her advantage, she squatted just enough to hook her foot behind his knee and pull towards her, knocking his leg out from under him and unbalancing them both. 

Seteth collapsed forward, and Byeth was pinned underneath him...but his hands were now pinned underneath  _ her.  _ A n acceptable outcome--for the moment. 

Except for the fact that Seteth was now impossibly close to her. 

She knew she shouldn’t feel this turned on, but goading him into his anger, into sparring with her… With him this close, she was absolutely aflame, and she could feel the heat of it in the apples of her cheeks.

She wondered if Seteth could sense her arousal.

She shifted into him, trying to gain enough purchase to flip them both over. Before she could execute her next move, however, Seteth’s hips rocked forward involuntarily, responding to Byleth’s proximity. 

He made an unschooled noise, deep in his throat. And then Byleth felt the pressure of his erection against the top of her thigh, and something deep within her signaled victory. 

Their eyes met--Byleth’s only slightly wider with surprise. 

Seteth’s were full of heat and anger and shame. “This was sheer folly.” He shifted, trying to unpin his arms. “Get out.” 

“Do you yield?” Byleth asked, wielding the pressure of her body against his like a weapon, capturing his stiffness between them, unrelenting. 

“Get…out!” he growled, pulling back from his shoulders while his arms were still pinned beneath her, going nowhere.

“Do you yield?” she repeated, each word fierce.

Seteth, desperate and trapped by her weight, howled in agony, an almost-inhuman sound of frustration that she felt resonate deep in her core.

Byleth realized several things simultaneously. One: Seteth was impossibly out of his depth...and floundering. 

Two: She was fervently attracted to him--and as curious about the truth of him as she was about Sothis. 

And three: Unless she shifted, he wasn’t going to be able to pull his arms free. 

She drew herself closer to his chest, allowing him to pull an arm out from underneath her, but once again rolling her body against the length of him in the process. 

He was fragrant with sweat and the scent of something earthy that she couldn’t quite place. It was delicious.

“I yield.” His voice was soft, almost pleading.

She spoke softly, close to his pointed ear, now safely hidden beneath the curtain of his hair. “Your secret is safe with me, Seteth.”

He disentangled himself from her, and she scuttled backwards, putting distance between them while he sat back on his haunches.

There was relief and anguish on his face and she reached forward, impulsively, putting her hand on his forearm, squeezing. “I’m sorry for antagonizing you. You have my word. Even if you do not trust it.”

She made her way to her feet and backed out of the room, leaving him on his knees in the center of the arena. 

She was blinded momentarily by the early afternoon sun as she moved out of the corridor. She could already hear the chatter of the students as they made their way from their classes for the day. 

Without second guessing herself, she dashed through the gardens, heading swiftly towards her personal quarters, putting space between him and herself while she allowed her brain to spin out.

Once she was in her room with the door firmly shut behind her, she relaxed against it, remembering the feeling of Seteth’s body pressed against hers. Remembered the smell of him, savoring the thrill in her blood.

The heat returned to her neck, and she was unsuccessful in breathing it away; she knew there was nothing that would satisfy her except the man himself. 

She had won.

Something like hope played within her chest, laced with a vague worry.

_ Fuck.  _ She shook her head.  _ I still didn’t talk to him about the requests. _

A knock sounded, dampened by her shoulders against the door. She knew it was Seteth before she opened it. 

When the door swung open, he stood there, still flushed, still barefoot, holding out her bag. It had been emptied of its supplies, which were now piled loosely in Seteth’s other arm. 

Despite the color that was still high on his cheeks, his face was a mask. Byleth was impressed.

She took the offered bag, saying nothing. Their eyes met, and still no words were exchanged, but Byleth could sense, now, the fire that churned within. 

She reveled in it.

He turned away with his head held high, leaving her watching.    
  


***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yesssssss, get it sister
> 
> (fwiw: I'm punting on this for at least the next week to write prompts for setleth week.)


	6. every road leads to danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth just wanted to get candy for flayn and instead he gets more than he expected in more ways than one. But not as much as he might desire, if you get my drift. 
> 
> Maybe...next chapter though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is so clear to me why I shouldn't wait two weeks between chapters because having to go back and read what you wrote is kind of agonizing. 
> 
> guess i gotta get inspo for seteth somehow
> 
> (i wonder if they have xanax in fodlan...)

Seteth sighed and shifted the packages he was carrying. He’d spent the last several hours making haste around the town nestled into the foothills surrounding Garreg Mach. The sky was already streaked with orange, and Seteth knew he wouldn’t be back within the monastery walls until well past the dinner hour, even if he headed home immediately.

It had taken longer than he’d expected to fulfill Flayn’s particular requests for candy. Of course his daughter had wanted several specialty items, sold by individual vendors, located all across town. 

If he weren’t unable to believe Flayn capable of such deceit, he might have suspected she had ulterior motives behind this seemingly innocent request. But Seteth also knew that Flayn’s love for food--sweets especially--surpassed all. 

And on this particular occasion, he was happy to oblige her. Things had been difficult between them of late, and this request had been simple enough, even if it had been costly in time. 

And, he supposed, Flayn truly could look after herself for a few hours more. Ruefully, he considered that his daughter might enjoy the opportunity to eat dinner with companions of her own choosing more than she’d appreciate the sweets he now carried in the packages tucked into his elbow. 

She’d made that particular point abundantly clear the last time he’d allowed someone to intervene on their normal mealtime routine. Flayn’s statement to the professor still rung in his ears: “ _ Ah, meals always taste best when it is a company of three or more at the table.”  _

He sighed again. Part of him was still wounded. 

He glanced around, considering his present mealtime options. The streets of the town were already thinning out as the people finished their days and went home to their own warm suppers.

He feared the head chef would report him to Rhea if he went asking for food after the dining hall had closed again. She’d been increasingly testy of late, and on some level, Seteth did see her point. Why should he be an exception to the common policy, even if his workload was twice that of the others? 

He didn’t want to acknowledge that going late to the dining hall also made it very certain he would dine in the relative security of his chambers. After the last debacle with Byleth in the training hall, he’d rather irritate the chef--or dine out, alone--then chance another run-in with Garreg Mach’s most popular mealtime companion. 

The stalls had long since closed for the day, but there were candles illuminating the windows in the tavern. That was a possibility, for certain. He had plenty of coin. 

Besides, it might be nice to have a meal out for once. 

It was decided. He changed his trajectory, tucking the packages into the larger bag he’d slung over his shoulder for the journey. 

Pushing open the heavy door, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside and found himself a seat next to the window. He’d prefer to sit with his back to the wall, if possible, but at least here he had a line of sight to the doorway. 

Seteth did not relish being caught unaware, even here.

He took a quick look around the tavern, noticing the Gautier boy seated across from his lady of the week on the opposite wall of the establishment. Their eyes met, and Sylvain made a subtle acknowledgement--enough for Seteth to notice, but not enough to draw his female companion’s focus off of whatever fanciful tale he was spinning for her. 

Seteth returned the gesture. Surely the boy would have some smart remark about him eating here alone later.

He supposed he would find the Gautier boy’s ability to attract women so readily masterful if he didn’t find it all so distasteful. He imagined Byleth as the focus of Sylvain’s charm, now that he was in her class, and his spirits floundered.  _ Regrettable. _

Pulling his thoughts away from such distasteful musings, he swept his eyes over the rest of the tavern, which was bustling with dinner activity. Students and knights and townsfolk mingled, and he supposed it was one of the better qualities of Garreg Mach that the lines between those who lived here together were so blurred.

Seteth ordered the grilled herring from the buxom serving girl--who still couldn’t hold a candle to Byleth--and found, once it arrived, that he did indeed feel lonely seated in the bustling establishment by himself. Now that he was well and truly alone, part of him wished for Flayn’s presence, for her simple delight over a meal of fish. 

Another, older part, allowed himself a brief indulgence of nostalgia. He recalled eating a version of this same dish with his wife and his daughter together. He closed his eyes, remembering the smell of the sea, the feeling of being surrounded by his family, before--before everything, now. 

Before he was Seteth. That had been another life entirely.

On that matter, he had to reluctantly agree with Flayn: meals did taste better in the company of others. 

He was halfway through the earthenware crock before he realized he recognized the voices that were now filling the ambience of the tavern.

Manuela’s drawl sounded behind him. “No, Professor. You simply must sit next to me.” 

Seteth chanced a look over his shoulder, and Manuela was patting the bench next to her. Her attention was focused on Byleth, whose face held her customary blank look, and the new professor obliged, sliding into a seat next to Manuela.

Seteth’s mood fouled and elated at the same moment, and he marveled at his continued capacity to feel completely contradictory emotions simultaneously. 

_ Will this relentless internal disruption ever cease?  _ Seteth thought. It had been four moons since she’d arrived at the monastery, and his heart still quickened like a school boy at every unexpected meeting. It was even worse after he’d ashamed himself in the training hall by pressing his erection into her leg. 

That...interlude had been entirely unexpected.

_ Control, Cichol. Control. _

He chanced a second quick look. Byleth and Manuela were accompanied by the rest of the faculty. Hanneman, Shamir, Alois, and Catherine settled in around them, and two pitchers of the acceptable tavern ale had already appeared at the table. 

The only face missing was Jeritza. Of course. And Seteth himself. For a moment, Seteth wondered if he had forgotten something he had been meant to attend. 

But then Manuela spoke again. “Sure is nice to spend some time together without the students around--and without Seteth breathing down our necks. Right, Professor?”

“Hmm.” In this particular instance Byleth’s customary noncommittal response seemed a vindication, and Seteth felt a strange pang of hope despite the otherwise offensive conversation.

Catherine laughed. “Come on, Manuela, he’s not that bad.” Seteth could hear her swallow as she drank half her ale in one go. “Besides, he can be fun to rile up, if just for his pompous reaction.”

Now it was Manuela’s turn to laugh. “Yes, but every time you rile him up, he takes it out on me! All that talk about proper decorum, and sobriety, and being a role model for the students… Bleah.” He heard Manuela take a drink and thump her certainly empty glass down on the table. “It’s a shame. He is rather attractive--if he weren’t so damn uptight.” 

At that everyone laughed, and Seteth could hear the clink of their glasses as they appreciated Manuela’s humor, at his expense. 

His herring finished, he left enough coin for the meal and a generous tip on the table. His time here was swiftly drawing to a close, and he gathered his belongings to depart before he got baited into another embarrassing encounter--in front of Sylvain, no less.

Manuela spoke again. “What do you think, Byleth?”

Seteth froze.

“Of Seteth?” Byleth’s voice was quieter than the others, and Seteth had to strain to hear her over the din of the establishment.

“Yes, of Seteth,” Manuela responded, playful.

Byleth paused before responding. “I also find him quite attractive.” 

Seteth felt the top of his ears heat in a flush of pleasure and nerves. He could not have expected this--could not have dreamed it.  _ Byleth finds me...attractive?  _ His inner dragon preened in spite of himself. Their entire previous interaction reframed itself in his mind.  _ What if-- _

Manuela guffawed. “Pro-fes-sor! I meant in general, not… for you to adjudicate him as a male specimen!”

“Oh. Well--” 

Catherine cut her off, elbowing Manuela in the ribs. “You evaluate  _ everyone  _ as a specimen, Manuela. Don’t give the new professor a hard time.” 

Manuela prickled. “Now, wait just a minute, Catherine. Not  _ everyone _ . I don’t go for the  _ ladies,  _ not like you do--”

Seteth heard Catherine slide the bench back as she stood to confront Manuela. “Excuse me?” 

Hanneman jumped in before Catherine could continue. “No, Manuela hasn’t lowered her standards that low--yet. She just ogles every available man who has ever so much as blinked in the same room as her.” 

Seteth couldn’t help himself. He stared openly as the faculty of his institution fell over each other to be absolutely insane in the middle of the tavern. Only Byleth had the good sense she was born with, sitting silently among them as they bickered, two hands clutching her ale, already half gone.

Manuela smiled at the older man, blinking sappily. “Yes. How else will I find love if I don’t explore all the available avenues, Hanneman? Not like you would even _ recognize _ a beautiful woman--unless she came to you bearing a crest besides.” She looked pointedly at Byleth.

Catherine took advantage of the break in the conversation. “I don’t chase ladies, Manuela.” 

Byleth spoke softly into the silence. “It’s okay if you do. Sometimes I do.” Byleth’s cheeks flushed in the dim light of the pub. “Or, at least, I used to.” She shrugged. “I think Shamir is attractive, too.” 

The entire table stilled and every face turned to regard Byleth. 

Byleth blinked, uncertain about the attention. “What?”

Shamir laughed before responding in her deadpan manner. “I’m flattered. You’re easy on the eyes yourself, Professor.”

Catherine collapsed back into her seat, wholly defeated. Seteth didn’t know what to think--was Byleth serious, or was she just playing the crowd? Alois was staring very intently into his glass, no doubt trying not to be involved in the mess that he’d created by inviting her to stay. 

Manuela filled the silence. “So you find women attractive, do you?”

Byleth turned to face the other professor. “I was happy to share my tent with men or women on the road.” She shrugged again. “I think both have something to recommend them.”

Manuela smiled in a way that made Seteth worried. “Well, if you had to choose, though, Professor. Seteth or--”

Shamir interrupted, still deadpan. “Before this conversation continues, you should know that Seteth himself is present. And listening.” 

Seteth shook his head. Caught out by the sniper. Of course.  _ Might as well face it head on, Cichol.  _ Seteth stood to his full height and turned to face the table.

Manuela’s mouth formed a perfect O of surprise, and Catherine’s eyes sparkled, enjoying the tension of the moment if she couldn’t claim the victory. Shamir seemed amused in her dry way, and Hanneman and Alois were both pretending their interest had caught elsewhere.

Byleth’s face colored prettily as their eyes met, and Seteth wondered if this was the first indication of her true feelings he’d encountered since he’d met her.  _ So she does have some measure of emotional response, _ he thought. Enduring Manuela’s backtalk for a century would be worth it for this single, strange moment. 

“I’m sorry to disrupt your chapter meeting of the Seteth Appreciation Society, ladies,” he said wryly, with a little bow. “I was just on my way.”

Byleth didn’t smile. He couldn’t fathom what she might be thinking.

Manuela stood, reaching out to him imploringly. “Seteth, I’m sorry. Truly, you’re not that bad. Although...I meant what I said about your looks.” She winked coyly. “Seems Byleth did, too.”

Seteth looked up to the heavens, imploring the goddess to bring this moment to an end.

Manuela continued. “Please--stay. But no lectures on my alcohol consumption, understood?” 

Alois chimed in. “There’s plenty of ale to go around, Seteth. And there’s still space at the table.” 

Seteth considered. He should absolutely, under no circumstances, stay. 

But Flayn would certainly be asleep by the time he returned, and his parcels would keep. The loneliness from earlier flickered in his chest, reminding him of his long years alone.

He met Byleth’s eyes once more--she had regained her cool distance, although he could see the hint of a flush still lingering on her cheeks--and he knew his decision was already made, unwise as it may be. 

He slid in across the table from Byleth, and Alois filled a mug and placed it in front of him before refilling everyone else’s glasses and calling for another pitcher. Now, the only thing he could look at was Byleth, and he did so, noticing her collar, the faint mark of a bruise on her bicep, the way her blue hair was almost black in the flicker of firelight inside the cozy room. 

Seteth felt incredibly self-conscious, and he could feel a blush rising on his own cheeks. Maybe this had been a mistake after all.

He was almost grateful when Hanneman took the floor, launching into a detailed update about his current line of crest research. While Hanneman talked, Catherine cleaned her fingernails with the tip of a dagger, and the rest of the faculty sipped from their glasses or looked around the tavern. 

Byleth’s face was impassable, and he thought she might be listening intently to Hanneman until her eyes flicked across the table and met his own. 

Seteth’s heart stopped in his chest. He hadn’t been this close to her since they’d been wrapped around each other, tussling on the floor like teenagers in heat. 

His temperature rose, and he considered--she knew about his ears…and as far as he knew, had kept her promise to keep silent. If she thought him attractive, then what? 

His ears were only the tip of the iceberg. He still couldn’t risk it. But the beast inside of him urged him to stay for a little longer.

Byleth emptied her ale and pushed it toward Alois, asking for a refill. He obliged, chuckling. “Just like your old man, eh?”

She nodded once, and took another drink, watching Seteth the entire time. 

Seteth still didn’t trust Byleth. Couldn’t trust her. But he did think she was very pretty. Even if her unblinking observation of him was thoroughly unnerving.

Catherine elbowed him. “Eh, Seteth?” 

“Er--what were you saying, Catherine?” 

The knight looked at him, and then followed his line of sight to Byleth. “Ah, I was just saying that things have been unusually busy since the new professor arrived.” She smiled. “But it seems as though you’ve noticed.” 

He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. 

Byleth drank deeply and then filled the silence, looking into her now-empty glass. “I don’t think Seteth likes me very much, Catherine.”

Seteth scoffed, and Catherine barked out a short laugh. “Why would you say that?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked between the two of them.

“He avoided talking to me for three weeks. The only way I could get him to take my completed requests was to spar with him, and then he hasn’t talked to me since. Unless he absolutely had to.”

Manuela said, with keen interest, “Really!” She searched Seteth’s face, appraising.

Catherine said, “You  _ sparred?  _ Who won?”

Seteth scoffed again. “Nonsense. We’ve spoken since then.”

A small smile played at the corner of Byleth’s mouth. “I won.”

Catherine laughed. “Of course you did.” 

“We spoke just this afternoon.” Seteth could tell his voice was too defensive. 

Manuela tapped her fingernail against her teeth, considering. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you in the dining hall lately, Seteth.” She smiled wickedly. “Have you been avoiding our new professor? How very unfriendly.” 

Byleth downed the foam in her glass and stood abruptly. “I have to go.” 

Seteth couldn’t help but notice how strange she was--not impolite, but certainly socially unpracticed in a way he’d never quite encountered before. He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or tired or if she’d simply changed her mind and decided to be somewhere else. 

She fished in her pocket and dropped a handful of coins on the table. “I’ll come again the next time.” She looked at Manuela, and then added, as an afterthought, “Thanks for inviting me.” 

Manuela nodded. “Of course. You’re always welcome.” She looked at Seteth. “You know, you’re welcome to come too, although after you’d never agreed to join us, I stopped asking.”

Seteth looked at Byleth, who was turning to leave. “Well--” 

Manuela raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going to let her walk home alone at night, are you?”

Seteth sighed. He really couldn’t. This had not been the evening he’d anticipated. He stood. “Professor, if you’ll allow me--”

“I can manage.” 

_ This is a bad idea. _ He smiled. “I know. But if you would like the company--” 

She shrugged. “Sure. Suit yourself.” 

Seteth sighed a breath of relief, not wanting to be rejected in front of a table full of his colleagues. He dropped a handful of coins on the table as well before bowing his good night to the rest of the faculty. Byleth was almost to the exit of the tavern before he caught up to her, and he reached forward to grab the door. 

“Thanks.” 

They stepped out into the evening together. The street outside was almost deafeningly quiet compared to the din inside, and in the silence, Seteth almost heard his warmed blood whooshing through his body--and he couldn’t even blame the alcohol. 

He had lived many years, and he could not say if he had ever been this acutely uncomfortable. 

Byleth turned to him, searching his face briefly before heading in the direction of the monastery. He followed. There was a long silence before she spoke. “I haven’t said anything to anybody, you know.” 

Seteth let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you.” 

She nodded. 

“I suppose I should say that I don’t dislike you, Professor.” He sighed into the night air. “You’ve just made things more...complicated. Flayn is important to me, and her safety is paramount. I don’t want trouble.” 

She turned to look at him, and her eyes were bright, and so, so blue. He imagined himself reaching out to touch the skin at her waist, imagined himself cupping her cheek--

“Unfortunately, Seteth, where I go, trouble often follows.” 

He nodded. “I suppose that is the way of mercenaries, after all.”

Her mouth thinned. “Indeed.”

He held out his arm, telling himself it was only polite. “Shall we?” 

She shrugged again before wrapping her hand around his arm. She was warm. His heart beat in his ears. “Sure.”

They turned together to head towards Garreg Mach, and he was grateful for the layers of cloth that separated them. This much contact was making him heady--he couldn’t imagine how he would respond to anything more.

The road stretched out before them, leading them home, with Seteth trying desperately to convince himself that there wasn’t even more trouble on the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so do they go back to Byleth's room and kiss before Seteth freaks out and runs away, or do we punt for more drama first? I'm leaning towards the latter.
> 
> also, if you want to holler or just nag me to write more, I'm @fyre_falcon on twitter.


	7. the unending folly of fear and faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> byleth and seteth walking home alone while refusing to talk to each other about anything that's actually important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this is all for fun but I still feel like I need to apologize for my gruesome update rate. Now that I can't leave my house for like forever, I'm hoping to turn this trend around.

Byleth followed the curve of the road and the main gate of Garreg Mach appeared before her, yawning open beneath a dark and starlit sky. 

In half an hour’s time she’d be safe and warm within her chambers, but she was currently enduring the longest walk home from town she’d experienced yet.

Her arm was still wrapped around Seteth’s, her nerves thrumming as if she were poised for battle. Since leaving town, they’d walked in silence, her body close enough to Rhea’s advisor to feel the warmth of his presence beside her.

Being this close to Seteth would have been unnerving regardless; Byleth knew she had not yet shaken his disapproval or won his admiration. But now that he knew that she found him attractive, she found her discomfort almost unbearable. Already, the act of remembering that moment in the tavern made something unfamiliar within her want to hide. 

She suspected this was what embarrassment felt like.

When she’d accepted Manuela’s invitation to faculty night at the bar, she wasn’t expecting to be escorted home. If anything, she was hoping to drink away the distraction she’d felt since their inadvisable interactions in the knights’ hall last month, something even the heat of her class’s last battle hadn’t slacked.

Especially when that battle had involved slaying the adoptive father of one of the monastery’s students. Byleth still cringed to think about it. Her mercenary work was a lot more complicated when she knew the people she was killing.

She suspected her father had worked very hard to protect her from that truth, given that she was only just now considering it.

Seteth shifted next to her, and she fought against her urge to lean closer, instead allowing the cool night air to settle into the space between them. She looked up at the stars spread above her, remembering the many long nights she’d spent traveling or camping under Fodlan’s night skies, breathing in the familiar scent of wet earth and sleeping forests.

She sighed, and Seteth shifted again. Things really had been more simple then.

She glanced at the man beside her, taking in the firm angles of his face. In the dark of the evening, his hair lost its green lustre; it could have been brown if she hadn’t known otherwise.

Somewhere deep inside her, Sothis huffed, impatient and vaguely disapproving. If she was unhappy with the glacial pace of this conversation or the object of her attention, Byleth couldn’t know.

“Do you miss your life before the monastery, Seteth?”

“Ah, well. Not exactly.” He coughed. Something about this question made him uncomfortable, but what it was, Byleth couldn’t say.

“What did you say you did before you became Rhea’s advisor?”

“Ah--I…I am not sure I have spoken of it to you. Nothing of particular note.”

Byleth wondered if there was any subject that involved him or his past that wasn’t sore or otherwise off-limits. “Mm. And Flayn? What did she do before she joined you at the monastery?”

“Well, she…” Byleth watched as the wheels spun in Seteth’s mind as he sought an acceptable answer. “She went to school, of course.”

“But she’s not continuing her studies here?”

“She is not.” Seteth coughed again, and the conversation spun out into an awkward silence. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, she’d just mentioned to me that she’d like to be in my class but that you’d never allow it. I was wondering why that was.” Byleth paused. “Whether it was me, or something else.”

“Ah.”

When Seteth didn’t elaborate, they continued their walk in silence, the gates of the monastery drawing closer until the structure almost loomed above them, echoing the strange tension of the stilted conversation between them.

She curled her fingers into Seteth’s arm before letting her hand drop completely, feeling a flicker of irritation alongside everything else.

“So, it’s me, then?”

Seteth sighed, and Byleth almost felt sorry, he sounded so defeated.

“Professor, you have to understand that I have my reasons for speaking so little about my past. What would you say if I turned these questions on you? What did _you_ do before coming to Garreg Mach, Professor?” He paused. “Would you care to be as open with me as you are requesting I be with you?”

“Seteth, I’ve already told you everything I know—”

“Yes, and you say that you do not even know your own _age_. You have done nothing besides obfuscate the truth since you arrived, and I—”

Byleth kept her rising irritation off her face. “I haven’t lied to you, or kept anything that I know from you, Seteth. I told you, my father never _told me—_ ”

“And you expect me to believe that your own father did not disclose your age to you? It is unthinkably preposterous.”

“Well, if you want to know so badly, why don’t you ask him.” Byleth picked up her pace, stepping ahead, something within her urging her to leave.

“I did.”

Byleth whipped around. “And what did he say?”

“He told me ‘to go fuck myself for nosing around in other people’s business,’ if I recall correctly. And then he told me to ask Rhea, if I really wanted to know.”

That sounded exactly like her dad. “And did you?

“No! Of course I did not. How would Rhea possibly know your age when she had not even known your name? I cannot imagine your father was attempting to do anything besides belittle me further.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “Do you see why I cannot trust you with Flayn?”

Byleth didn’t answer that question. Her mind whizzed through the possibilities, wondering why her father would have suggested Seteth ask the archbishop. Unlike Seteth, she didn’t believe he was simply goading the other man into looking foolish.

Instead, it felt like a lead.

“Well, if my father said it, maybe you should ask her…and if she knows, maybe you could fill me in.”

“What was that?”

Byleth shook her head and met Seteth’s gaze, distantly noticing the flash of heat within her chest that accompanied even that slight intimacy. “If Rhea knows my age, and she discloses it to you, perhaps you could share it with me.”

Seteth huffed and shook his head, picking up the pace himself. Byleth followed, waiting for a response that didn’t come.

She looked over at him, noticing the firm set of his lips. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, but he no longer looked upset. Maybe thoughtful. A little frustrated.

Inwardly she cursed herself—this conversation had been phenomenally awkward, continuing the pattern of every other interaction she’d had with Rhea’s impossible advisor.

While her students had been schooled in social graces, everything she’d learned about the art of conversation had come from Jeralt himself, and even she knew his elegance was lacking in such things.

Seteth looked over, noticing Byleth’s face turned towards his own. “I have to wonder, have I…have I truly drawn your attention, Professor?”

 _What?_ Byleth looked straight ahead, feeling vaguely caught out for the second time that evening. Was he asking her about her feelings directly? She felt her nerves return as she considered what to say, cycling through her options for too long.

She went with the lie, hedging: “No.”

“Ah.” Seteth, too, was quiet for a beat too long. “I just thought, after what you said to Manuela and the others…”

Byleth froze. He _was_ asking her about her feelings. “I apologize, I didn’t mean—”

Seteth turned towards her, slowing, and Byleth turned to face him. “You didn’t mean…” He grimaced, as though uttering the following words were distasteful to him. “You didn’t mean that you find me…attractive?”

Byleth sighed again, especially regretting her second ale, her words and her feelings spinning together with more velocity than usual. “Well…no. Yes. I didn’t—” Seteth’s face fell, and Byleth watched him struggle to retain his neutral expression, and she reached out. “No—no, you misunderstand.”

Seteth’s voice was crisp and formal when he responded. “Well. Enlighten me, then, Professor.”

She swallowed. Her voice was quiet, even for her. “I’m sorry, Seteth. This is all very awkward for me. I’m not used to having to explain how I feel to others. I’m used to always being on the go, working with someone different every day, and Jeralt…well, he doesn’t ask me these questions.” She huffed ruefully to herself.

Seteth watched her as she spoke; his face now open enough to tell she’d somehow hurt him.

“I don’t really know how to have these kinds of conversations, and…” She took a deep breath, and the words just started pouring out. “And you’re right—I don’t know enough about myself or my past to put your mind at ease.”

She remembered the feeling of Sothis stirring within her and said, “Even I have more questions than I have answers, about myself, about my role here—about the ethics of sending children to fight the church’s battles, about what it means to ask my students to slaughter their classmates’ parents after I’ve done similar work my entire life.”

She closed her eyes, trying to settle herself and quell the anger that arose as she remembered Ashe’s face upon their return. “You ask me again and again whether you can trust me—but how am I supposed to know whether or not to trust _you_?”

Seteth’s face registered surprise, and Byleth could tell this was the first time he’d considered how the church must appear from her perspective.

She was reminded of his face that first morning, at the door of her room, both of them shocked into silence through sheer proximity, and she felt that now-familiar curl through her belly, complicating her anger and frustration and making her bold.

“And, well, yes. I do find you attractive. But there’s not been a single thing I’ve said or done that hasn’t seemed to make things worse between us.” She sighed. “When I first came here, I…was so nervous about fitting in with the students, but it turns out…”

She let herself trail off for a second and look at the sky, letting the starlight calm her thoughts. Seteth gave her space to continue, staring out into the darkness of the trees, his face pensive.

“It turns out it’s all of you who are difficult to get to know.” She gestured towards town, hoping Seteth knew that she meant the rest of the faculty as well as him. “I’ve been chasing something I didn’t know I was behind in since day one.”

She looked at Seteth, and his face was still inscrutable, but he didn’t look crestfallen any longer, so she considered it a victory. “I don’t know where I stand with anyone here, what Rhea wants from me—what you want. I don’t even know why I’m _here._ ”

Seteth inhaled through his nose. His face softened. “Professor, I—”

Byleth waited, but he didn’t continue. She shook her head, done with this conversation and the unrelenting agony of this night. “I think I can find my way back to my room from here.”

She turned again, and as she took the first step towards home, she felt Seteth’s hand circle her wrist—this time with softness, the harsh grip he’d used in the sparring hall replaced by something tender and almost entreating.

“Professor—wait.” He pulled at her wrist just hard enough to urge her back towards him.

Byleth paused. And then she relented.

As she stepped toward him, Seteth turned to face her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. The last time they’d been this close, her legs had been wrapped around him, and she’d felt the telltale signs of his own attraction, signaling something deeper than this conversational morass they couldn’t seem to escape.

His fingers lingered around her wrist for a moment more, the heat of his hand almost searing on her night-cooled skin. When he sighed again, she could feel it, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine closing the gap between them and capturing his mouth with her own.

She looked up, and his face was so, so close, his eyes intent and green and watchful and still very much a mystery to her.

He released her, easing back out of her space, just a hint of a blush coloring the heights of his cheeks. “Professor.”

Byleth couldn’t quite breathe. “Yes?”

After a moment of consideration, he offered her his arm once again.

She took it, certain he’d been about to say something. Instead of provoking him further, she took his lead, wrapping her arm around the stiff fabric of his sleeve.

Once they were no longer face to face, Seteth spoke into the darkness. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, Professor. I am reticent to admit that I had not considered your perspective on the matter, and, ah—you make some pertinent arguments.”

Byleth could feel some of her anger ebb away, replaced instead by the shimmering uncertainty of desire. She accepted his concession and was silent, unwilling to shatter the relative peace of the moment with another attempt at conversation.

They passed together under the gate of the monastery, walking through the quiet market, dwarfed by the mighty facade of the entrance hall and the utter grandeur of the estate of Garreg Mach. At the top of the stairs, Seteth silently guided her to the left, walking past the shuttered stall of the fishmonger and pausing in front of the greenhouse, the plants nothing but strange silhouettes in the darkness.

They walked in silence past the first block of dormitory rooms, most—but not all—of the rooms already dark. The few chambers with light streaming from beneath the door were quiet. The students were studying, socializing elsewhere, or asleep.

After ascending to the second level, Seteth slowed, and when Byleth turned toward him, he released her arm, turning instead to face her directly.

“Professor, I am certain I owe you more of an apology than I can adequately deliver, especially at this particular moment.” He paused. “I have much to consider, and I am grateful that you’ve spoken with me so…candidly this evening.”

Byleth nodded, unsure of what to say.

Seteth scanned the grounds behind her, ensuring that they were alone before he he leaned in a bit closer, speaking so only she could hear. “I recognize I have given you little reason to express any measure of loyalty towards me or to honor my requests. And yet, you do so anyway. It makes me realize your silence speaks much more of your character than my ability to inspire your…cooperation. And so I am also especially grateful for your discretion.”

Byleth couldn’t imagine what he’d been anticipating she might do about her accidental discovery of his unusual anatomy. It was not difficult to stay silent on the matter. “Of course.”

His serious expression shifted into a smile, and Byleth felt her own heart lift. He reached forward, capturing her hand in his for the second time that evening, speaking once again at a normal volume. “I very much enjoyed our time together this evening, unusual as it was.”

She smiled in return. “As did I. Thank you for walking me home.”

“It was truly my pleasure.” Seteth dipped his head toward her, pulling her hand close before pressing his warm lips to her skin. “As I have delivered you safely to your room, it's here I'll take my leave. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Professor.”

He released her hand and turned, his small flourish causing his cape to ripple in his wake. Byleth stood rooted to the spot, her left hand capturing the back of her right, pressing the heat of Seteth’s mouth into her skin, uncertain and unmoored.

Behind her, she heard a familiar chuckle.

She turned, and Sylvain rested easily against the brick of the dormitory, regarding her. “Well hello there, Professor. Now I understand why you’ve turned down all of my invitations for dinner.” He gestured to where Seteth stood just a moment before.

Byleth didn’t know what to say.

“Was that Seteth?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

She looked over her shoulder, regarding the empty air behind her. “It…was.”

Sylvain chuckled again. “That sly old dog. He’s putting the moves on you, Professor.”

She rubbed her hand again. “Perhaps.”

Sylvain looked slightly dismayed. “I suppose I can’t win them all, but to lose to Seteth…” He chuckled again. “Harsh.”

“That’s enough, Sylvain.”

“I’ll have to concede to him tomorrow.”

Byleth blanched. “You’ll do no such thing.”

He laughed. “You’re right. It would be way too embarrassing.” He bowed in his offhand, charming way. “Goodnight, Professor.”

She couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head. “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

Byleth turned, her coat also rippling in her wake, and she stalked back to her room, her left hand still clutching the other.

As she closed her chamber door behind her, her mind replayed the events of the evening, wondering if what Sylvain had said was true. She was reluctant to admit, even to herself, how much she hoped he was right.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went for option: more drama. :D
> 
> Holler at me, or, you know, don't: @fyre_falcon (twitter)


	8. danger, and desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ingredients: strong sexual desire, repression, living through the loss of loved ones, genocide, capacity to execute control on an organizational level, byleth's allure, jeralt, seteth's exquisite internal agony
> 
> SHAKE WELL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: minor graphic violence (in a dream), mental illness/anxiety

_Cichol’s borrowed wyvern screamed, and its cry echoed off the stone walls of the canyon. His own mount had been grounded, broken, another casualty of this catastrophic war._

_Beneath him, the soil was soaked with blood._

This dream was familiar. Seteth stirred in his sleep.

_Trying to orient himself, he looked for Seiros’s form among the crush of bodies, but he could not find her from his current vantage. Beneath him, masses of soldiers roiled, the collision of their weapons punctuated by the sound of thunder and crack of ice as the line of human mages finally crashed against the Nabatean infantry._

_He pulled his wyvern to the left as every hair raised on his body, just barely fast enough to avoid the initial pulse of the thunder spell as it materialized. He tried to locate the caster below._

_Cichol rolled around the bolt as it struck down from the heavens, the smell of plasma and char high in his nostrils. Blinking against the afterimage, he knew he’d no sooner be able to see the individual mage in the turmoil below than a sign on the surface of the moon._

_He pulled tight against the ground to make himself less of a target as he continued his desperate search for Seiros, and hopefully with her, Cethleann._

On the grounds of the monastery, Seteth’s brow was wet with sweat.

_Pulling the wyvern around a stone outcropping, the dusty yellow rock familiar and ancient, his vision finally cleared: Serios and Cethleann were together, and surrounded by pikemen. Seiros was elongating in the way that meant she was shifting into her true power, and Cichol knew in his bones that her evolution was a harbinger of their demise._

_This was their last, most desperate stand. He had to evacuate his family._

_His daughter was glowing with white magic, chaining Fortify, protected from the tumult of battle around her by the bodies of Cichol’s people. An unsettling sensation of swelling pride and bald fear settled into his chest, and he urged his wyvern forward._

_Cethleann reached out, pressing magic into the shoulder of the man in front of her as a blade pierced his torso. Too late, or too much damage— Cichol couldn’t tell. The man crumpled. Cethleann scampered back, and the troops closed ranks around her._

_Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he scanned the skies for his wife._

Cethleann first, he reminded himself. He couldn’t save his people, but he could save her. He had to pray his wife could take care of herself. 

_He swooped down, using his lance to off-balance the left flank of a cavalry line, spooking the horse into its neighbor and giving the Nabatean archers a moment to reload before firing again, as one. Cichol heard the voice of the commander over the cacophony of war, and wondered, after today, if he would ever again speak the tongue of his people with another._

_Clearing the pikemen, Cichol watched as Serios took to the sky, drawing a colossal breath before razing the ground before her with a column of light. He pulled back in the saddle for a moment, appreciating the majesty and sheer brutality of her applied force._

_Seiros was unthinkably powerful, but she could not win this entire war alone._

_“Father!”_

_Cichol’s attention snapped back, trying to pinpoint Cethleann._

_The line ahead of her had been compromised in Seiros's absence. Too many of her squadron had fallen. He pulled to the right, hard, and his wyvern swooped in low; he called her name, eyes locked on her face._

_Cichol reached down for his daughter’s hand, her face streaked with blood, the desperate need to sleep already apparent in her clear green eyes. He should not have allowed this._

_Another catastrophic mistake when there had already been so many. Too many._

_This time, he would not fail his family. His fingers clasped her hand._

_He pulled, so slowly—too slowly—trying to counterbalance himself as he lifted her up with a single arm._

_The moment slowed and time became thick, and deep, wrapping around itself, trapping him and Cethleann in an eddy. Behind her, the war raged on, and the individual human faces blurred into a spectrum of metal and anger and noise._

_He pulled, focusing on his daughter’s eyes, willing himself and the goddess and everything that was holy to aid him._

_The eddy swirled and became still. The human faces distilled into individuals, focusing on him, yes, but especially, dangerously, profoundly, on Cethleann._

_He gathered his strength, pulling, willing Cethleann safe in his arms, and then—_

_Cichol’s eyes widened with horror as a pikehead pierced through his daughter's chest from behind._

_Cethleann's cry stretched out for an eternity._

_The metal of the pike glittered in the evening sun, rich and red with blood, and Cichol’s chest throbbed with his daughter’s wound, as if the mortal injury had been his own._

_He pulled, and pulled, and he pulled—her hands were slick with blood, slipping from his fingers._

_The men extracted the crimson liquid like a prize, and he watched, frozen around his unrelenting agony, as his daughter crumbled into sand before him, falling away from his fingers and dissolving, into nothing, like time…_

Seteth woke himself, calling out into the night. “Cethleann!”

He reeled with a desperate sense of failure. He reached over in the darkness, panting, feeling for the warmth and comfort of his wife. It was a moment before his waking mind caught up with him.

His wife had fallen. It had been more than a thousand years since her death. More than a thousand years, now, since his people had fallen in Zanado.

The grief rose, raw in his chest, like new. He buried his face in his hands and wept.

So much of Seteth's life had been steeped in loss.

But Flayn. She was still here.

“It was just a dream,” he whispered to himself as his anxiety spun up around him, making his breath short. He sucked air, trying to calm down as the images from the dream and the powerful, stifling sense of fear ebbed from his body. “You were not even there when your people fell in Zanado,” he whispered to himself. “This is a fabrication of your mind, nothing more. Nothing more.”

The dream lingered, however, his sense of war and agony buoyed by his very real memories of the battle against Nemesis long ago. The wide expanse of the Tailtean Plains had presented a different set of tactical considerations, and when he'd fought, it had been with humans by his side. By the time he had gotten involved in Sothis’s war, his people—save Indech and Macuil—were already dead.

But he had saved Flayn, even when his failure had cost him his wife. And she was safe in her chambers. _And she will remain safe for eternity, because I will never again let her out of my sight,_ he swore to himself, even as he knew it was foolish, impossible.

He breathed. His heart rate remained elevated. He felt the texture of the fabric of his bedsheets twisted around his fingers, listened for the sounds of the still night past the sill of his window, tried to anchor himself in this moment and breathe himself back to calm.

His chest still felt tight. Certainly it couldn’t hurt to check. Certainly, Flayn was safe.

He tossed back the coverlet, grateful for the cool of the night air, before slipping bare feet into loafers and padding across the dark room, devoid even the light of the moon.

He turned the handle of his chambers silently, moving into the common room of their quarters, expertly dodging the sofa and the table, admitting to himself in his solitude that this was a familiar path, a familiar dream, a familiar worry.

He knew from experience that he would not get a wink of sleep if he did not check. He would not sleep any more tonight regardless, but at least seeing Flayn’s hair against her pillow would allow him to spend another sleepless night in peace.

He’d long ago learned to live with insomnia, learned how to wield it so it gave him an advantage. He’d made peace with the constant exhaustion, made so much less tolerable recently by the change in circumstances at the academy this year, by the constant barrage of Byleth’s attention and his own infuriating inability to stay away from her and her fighter’s grace and her wide, unsettling eyes.

He pushed the memory of her face, so close to his, just hours before, out of his mind. Even here, she was interfering. Even alone in the smallest hours of the night, he had to fight her out of his life.

He twisted the door handle of his daughter’s bedroom, moving the door smoothly along the hinge so there wasn’t even a creak.

In the darkness, he saw Flayn’s hair against the pillow, and he breathed out, feeling his entire body unclench as he stepped into the room, close enough to her bedside to see his daughter breathe.

How much he loved her. How much he regretted he could not wrap her in his arms and protect her forevermore, especially when she still appeared so young. How grateful he was that she was safe, and still, and sleeping.

It was, ironically, so much easier to keep her safe when she was asleep, even though she hated it. Feared it. Almost as much as he feared losing her, he knew.

In sleep, she reminded him of their earliest years as a family, when her mother and he would stand together with their arms linked, watching her sleep and so rich with love for each other and this brilliant little girl, the first—and yet only—of her kind.

And it was that truth, the fact that both races’ blood ran through her veins, a testament to the love between his kind and humans, that put her in so much danger.

Seteth smoothed the hair back from her brow, and she shifted in her sleep, frowning. How much sleep had he lost over love, and danger?

Seeing Flayn safe, he stepped quietly out of her room, knowing she would sulk for days at the intrusion were he to be discovered, even with the sweets from the market that awaited her in the morning.

How much he wished they could drop this facade, that he could be her doting father and allow the truth of who they both were to be known.

But just as his dreams were full of danger, so were his waking desires.

He could no sooner be honest about Flayn’s parentage than he could stride down to Byleth’s quarters and demand to court her. Sheer, unthinkable folly.

The knowledge that she felt similarly, that she…was attracted to him in turn, that she might even accept his offers, rattled him, returning some of the unease to his chest. That he’d caught her eye, when there were so many others…

How much worse this was when he knew she might not reject him outright.

Even if that was what he deserved.

He shook his head. _How are you even considering this? After everything you’ve been through?_

He remembered the look of pleasure and surprise that graced Byleth’s normally impassive face as he kissed her hand. He had to admit that this woman had awakened feelings within him that he’d thought he’d tucked away forever.

It wasn’t just the monastery that had changed with Byleth’s arrival—it was him, and the rest of the inhabitants with it. It terrified him.

He didn’t know what to make of that truth, but he did know that he would not be getting any more sleep.

He crossed their sitting room to the window, looking out over the silent grounds of the monastery below. It couldn’t be yet four, but the soft serenade of waking birdsong was not far off.

He picked up the cloak that rested on the chair beside the window and after slipping into his linen pants and his tunic, he spun it around his shoulders and set off.

*

Although he’d intended to find his way to his office, his feet instead took him down the stairs and towards the fishing pond.

He turned, following the wall that bordered the stairs up to the sauna, and headed down through the row of dormitories for the second time that night. This time, however, he was alone and free of the awkward shame of kissing the professor’s hand and dancing around her impertinent questions.

Without her in front of him, he could admit that they had been fairly innocuous. He just couldn’t explain why everything she said or did got straight to the core of him.

He slowed as he encountered her door, half hoping her light would be flickering out from the gap beneath, that there would be yet another reason to engage with her, and cursing himself and his foolishness all the same.

Alas, her room was dark, and the woman inside likely asleep. He imagined her soft and undone, her pale skin against the sheets, her dark hair billowing against the linens, imagined the act of surrounding himself in the scent of her.

He was already hard, his erection demanding his attention with an urgency he’d never remembered before. _This is agony._

He slowed in front of her door, the most foolish part of him almost desperate to knock, to call her to him, to confess his feelings and his thoughts and his folly to this beautiful enigma of a woman and throw caution to the wind.

He rested his forehead on the smooth wood of her door, and he remembered, also, Flayn.

 _How many people do you have to lose before you learn to control yourself, Cichol_?

He sighed against her door, torn between these two sides of himself, the image of his bloodied daughter slipping from his grasp vivid in his mind, the fear tangling with his own desire and arousal.

There was so much danger for her, here. How could he live with himself if it was his attraction to this unqualified and unprecedented woman that put her in harm’s way?

He placed his hand against Byleth’s door.

He also had to admit to himself that there was also so much more to live for here. The long centuries in hiding and isolation were a misery he wouldn’t wish upon his enemies. And the twenty years he’d spent at the monastery waiting for Flayn to wake were years that blurred into a monotony of paperwork and seminars and equipment negotiations.

Byleth had changed all of that, every last thing.

He hadn’t felt so…alive in years. He’d been shaken out of his complacent patterning, and it had made him cruel to her, especially when he was truly so—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Seteth snapped away from Byleth’s door like he’d been slapped.

Jeralt stood in the middle of the wide corridor, dusty and road-weary, scowling. He waited a moment for Seteth’s response. “Well?”

Seteth fidgeted, trying to recover his composure. Instead he was belligerent, his voice high and defensive. “It is not yet dawn. I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m not the one pining against my daughter’s bedroom door, now am I?”

Seteth was scandalized. “I was not _pining_ , I was—” Seteth could feel his face telegraphing his own realization. He closed his eyes, willing Jeralt and the rest of the world away. _How absolutely mortifying._

“Yep. So.” Jeralt shifted a bag of equipment over his broad shoulders, and Seteth realized he must have just gotten in from a mission. “What the fuck would you do if our roles were reversed—or better yet, if you just found some ‘hormonal youth’ panting outside your _sister’s_ door?”

The way Jeralt said “sister” made Seteth’s stomach churn. He felt the blood drain from his face as he considered any one of the male students of the monastery--or worse, _Sylvain_ \--in a similar position outside of Flayn’s room.

Jeralt took a step closer. “Look, Seteth, I’ve seen the way you look at her. Hell—I see the way _everyone_ looks at her. She’s my daughter, but I’m not a fool.”

Seteth opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again at Jeralt’s withering look.

“I’m not going to tell you to stay away.” He jabbed a meaty finger into Seteth’s chest, hard enough that it hurt. “But don’t you and Rhea fuck her around, Seteth. I know the Church’s bullshit, and I’ve been here long enough that I know what I get for putting up with it. But if you fuck with Byleth, I swear to Sothis, I’ll—”

“I assure you—”

Jeralt grabbed Seteth’s tunic and pulled him close enough that he could smell woodsmoke on the other man’s clothing. “Don’t give me your bullshit assurances, advisor. Use your position and your clout with Rhea, and _look out for her_ if you care about her enough to pine at her door at fucking four in the morning.”

 _Care…about her?_ For the second time that night, Jeralt had seen something in Seteth’s behavior that he hadn’t himself realized. The realization that there was more substantial emotion besides the desperate lust of an old, lonely man shook him speechless.

Distantly, Seteth realized he was already across some invisible threshold, and the ramifications of that truth filtered out through his consciousness, making him woozy.

Jeralt released him, and he stumbled back, hands smoothing the fabric on the front of his chest. He looked at Seteth expectantly.

“Yes. Ah—that is, I…will look out for her, as you say.”

“Good. I’ve got shit to do—let’s get out of here before she wakes up and thinks we’re the ones trying to hook up.” Jeralt winked at him, lewdly, and Seteth was again shocked into silence, wordless as the other man departed, whistling some vaguely familiar tune under his breath as he made his way north to the equipment storage.

Seteth continued south to the pond, his mind once again reeling.

For the first time in a long time, he was grateful for his inability to sleep. He had so much to consider.

Sinking down on the pier, he sat wordlessly, his mind spinning as he gazed unseeing into the depths of the water, until the rising sun lifted the dark sky into shades of cerulean and Seteth slipped away before someone else in Garreg Mach could surprise him.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks, as always, for reading and commenting and following along. i know this story is incredibly self indulgent, but it's been a joy to write and share and talk about in a time where not many things feel that way so, thanks. (hmu on twitter if you want: @fyre_falcon)
> 
> also! i've been drafting a five-part PWP crimson flower setleth agonyfest, so keep your eyes peeled for that in the next couple of weeks. i'll be sure to link it in the notes once it's live. 
> 
> (hope you're all doing well out there!)


	9. strangeful days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkwardness and makeouts ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I am realizing as I continue writing this is that I don't have even the faintest idea how to execute fanfic tropes.

Byleth wove her way through a crowd of students, making headway against the rush as she fought for the second-floor staircase. On the landing, she almost ran headfirst into Leonie, who caught her billowing sleeve and Byleth’s attention. “Hey! Glad I found you.” She beckoned for Byleth to follow.

Once they were both in the relative quiet of the second-floor hallway and approaching her father’s office, Leonie continued. “Have you seen Jeralt today, Professor? I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

Byleth hadn’t—and in fact hadn’t seen nor spoken to him in weeks. Her father was busier working for Rhea than he’d ever been working for himself. “No, although I’m certain he’s back from his mission—I saw his mount in the stables while I was looking for Lindhardt this morning. Do you need him for something?”

“Nah—I just wanted to train. Unless you’ve got some spare time?” She looked at Byleth appraisingly. “I bet I can beat you, especially if we use lances. Jeralt told me you were never as good with a spear as you are with a sword.” 

Byleth wondered if she should feel betrayed, although her father was absolutely right. “I was actually heading to some faculty training myself—but maybe some other time.” 

“Oh, with Seteth?” Leonie asked knowingly. 

Byleth frowned. “Yes, with Seteth.” 

Leonie laughed. “So that’s what you’re calling it, then. Training.” She laughed to herself, covering her smile with her hand. “I bet you’re even going to use _lances_ , aren’t you?”

“Yes? As you've pointed out, they're a particular area of weakness.”

Leonie dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Nice one, Professor.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Oh, this is rich.” Leonie nodded to herself. “All right—I’m going to go train, for real, then. I have to beat you! I’m Jeralt’s best apprentice, even if you are his kid. And what better time to get one up on you than when you’re distracted.” 

Byleth blinked at Leonie, unsure of how to respond. 

Leonie mistook her silence for intimidation. “That’s right. You’ll see. Okay, I gotta go. Enjoy your ‘training.’” Another laugh. “See you later, Professor.” 

“Bye, Leonie.” Byleth shook her head. _Strange girl._

Leonie was right about one thing, though: Byleth’s lance work really could use some attention if she was starting to get a reputation about it. 

As a matter of course, she peeked into Jeralt’s office. It was, in fact, empty. Despite all his bluster, Jeralt was sometimes quiet enough when focused that he could have been there, listening, the whole time. 

Byleth poked her head into Seteth’s office. Also empty. 

She considered asking him if he had any insight into what had happened with Leonie, and then thought through the entire conversation in retrospect, realizing Leonie’s double entendre and the fact that she’d played right into it.

A wave of fresh mortification swept through her, and she cursed herself for making another conversational folly.

She walked down the hallway, retracing her steps from earlier. Ahead, the audience chamber’s doors were swung open and Rhea was inside, surrounded by pilgrims and priests, deeply involved in her daily duties. She looked up as Byleth approached, gracing her with her beatific smile. 

Byleth nodded in response.

She stepped into the small antechamber, where Seteth was often sequestered during the day, catching up on Rhea’s administration and sometimes taking audiences himself before retiring to his own office, where his real work began. 

His back was to her as she entered, his hands clasped behind him as he gazed out the window, which was filling the room with the diffused light of daytime. She couldn’t see his face, but she admired the curve of his forearms; she knew now that his fancy extended cuffs were drawn tight across muscle and that the stiff wool of his professional attire concealed something rather more titillating underneath. 

They’d spoken a handful of times in the weeks since their unplanned excursion, and Byleth was grateful that a fraction of his conduct toward her had thawed. She wondered if it had been obvious to others as well. 

Besides that single press of his mouth to her hand, he’d been nothing but professional—but Byleth could tell that something about their last private interaction had ebbed away some of his ire. 

She took another step or two into the room, letting her hand rest lightly on the immaculately polished surface of Rhea’s desk. Her mind offered her a vision: the man in front of her, turning, pushing her back onto the surface of this desk, his body above hers, his lips on her neck, her legs around him—

Seteth actually turned, and Byleth jolted like a spooked horse. 

His face held concern, and no small amount of confusion. “Professor, are you quite all right?”

Byleth tried to smile. “Yes. I—I was just wondering if you had a moment.” Her mind spun, trying to remember why she was here. “I thought I might ask you about some of your drills for improving your lancework.”

She cleared her throat when he didn’t immediately answer, prompting, “I saw your post—about faculty training.” She tried to keep her voice light.

Seteth nodded. “Oh. Yes. Faculty training. Of course. I would…be happy to show you what I know. I will be free later this afternoon. But I would be remiss if I did not first inform you that your father has been looking for you.”

“Leonie mentioned that she hadn’t seen him. Do you know where he is?”

“I saw him heading to the graveyard on my morning walk. Do you know how to get there?”

Byleth couldn’t remember having been there herself, but she’d seen it from the ledge above. She couldn’t imagine why her father would be there. 

“Yes. I’ll find my way.” She bowed, keeping her distance. “I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

He bowed in return. “I will await you in my office.”

She smiled, already looking forward to it. Already nervous. “Great. I’ll meet you there.”

*

Her father was indeed in the graveyard. Byleth approached him, the stifling heat of the summer air broken by a cool breeze that had settled into the sunken grade, silent and separate from the main grounds of the estate. 

Her father was still, and—sad? It was a look Byleth couldn’t remember seeing on his face in many years, if ever. 

She was careful to allow her footfalls to make a sound. She didn’t want to startle him. When she was just feet away from him, he noticed her, smiling ruefully as she approached. In the hand furthest from her, he held several loose flowers in a riot of colors. 

Now she really didn’t know what to make of this. 

She placed a hand on his arm, and when he looked even sadder, she felt compelled to reach out and draw him into a stilted hug. “Are you…okay?”

She released him, and he reached up to wipe a tear with the hand that wasn’t holding flowers. “Oh, Byleth. I really fucked up.” 

“Oh goddess, did someone…die?” She looked down at the grave in front of him, her chest suddenly tight. The grave didn’t look fresh.

Then Jeralt laughed. “Not recently, kid.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “No. This last mission wasn’t _quite_ that bad.” 

When Byleth continued to stare, not understanding, he said, “No, this is your mother’s grave, Byleth. She died, but not recently. Right after you were born.” 

Byleth blinked, trying to process this information. “Why is her body…here?” She remembered Jeralt telling Seteth to ask Rhea her age, and wondering if this had something to do with that. She looked more closely at the gravestone, and both the name and the date had been marked away. The stone looked much older than what she would expect—twenty years? Twenty-five, tops? 

“You would ask that. I can’t tell you everything, not yet. Some of it I don’t even know, and the rest of it I’m still trying to find out. But she died here. And how that impacts you, well—that part will keep.” 

“How it impacts me?” She was almost desperate for more information, but she knew her father well enough that he would only tell her what he wanted to share. “So, how did you…fuck up?”

Jeralt ran a hand down his face. “I just—I wanted to protect you. From missing her, from all of this…” He gestured at the cathedral, visible across the way. I just thought that we could fight other people’s battles forever, and that I could leave all of this behind.”

Byleth waited, letting him talk himself out. 

“I didn’t want to talk about it, or think about it—and I didn’t want you to grow up feeling like you were missing something you could have had, or that you were different from everyone else. I really thought I was protecting you, kid.” 

He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, pulled her into a half hug and held her, side by side. “I just loved you so fucking much, and I knew how fucked up these people were. Are.” 

He sighed. “But I shoulda known it would eventually catch up with us. And now, I think I put you at a disadvantage. Because you don’t know any of this shit. I made sure you could protect yourself with a weapon, and you’ve been so…strong. Since you were just a little girl.”

Byleth could take out men twice her size even before puberty. She’d been fighting—and killing—her way through the world for over a decade now. She nodded. Her father was right.

“But I never taught you how to be with people.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, By. I just... You were always so different from everyone else. Stronger, and stranger, with your big eyes, just taking everything in. I didn’t want you to hurt for it. But I see now there was no way I could have protected you from it forever, and I should have… Well. I should have prepared you for it instead.”

Byleth thought back over the last four months at the monastery, thought about all her sleepless nights, the feeling of being the odd one out, of not knowing the strange conversational dance that all the nobles seemed to take to like fish in water. 

She thought of all of the fighting, the years of drills and swordplay and danger, all of the battles. The feeling of mortification that had rippled through her body again and again since she'd arrived here. Thought of how Ferdinand could dance, but couldn’t draw a bow. Thought of Edelgard’s unmatched diplomacy, and her inability to anticipate how a flank moved on the field of war.

“I’m glad I know how to fight, Dad.” She remembered her awkward conversation with Seteth, how she didn’t know how to put the feelings inside herself into language. But she was learning. “I…I can always learn how to talk. But I’m glad I know, er, knew first, how to fight.” 

Jeralt laughed. “Of course you would say that. You’ve always been so fierce, Byleth. They didn’t call you Ashen Demon for nothing.” He looked out over the expanse before them, and they watched a pegasus knight soar by in the distance, on patrol. Something about that transit signaled to her father that the conversation was over. “Well, looks like that’s my cue to wrap things up here.” 

He removed his arm from Byleth and reached forward to put the flowers on the grave in front of them. “Your mother’s name was Sitri, Byleth. She loved you, loved you so fucking much. I’d never seen her happier than when she was pregnant with you.” 

Byleth watched his face become wistful as he remembered something that she wasn’t certain she’d even be able to imagine. 

“And I loved her too. She made me so damn happy.” He looked right at her. “Someday, someone’s gonna make you that happy, kid. And when they do, I want you to give them this ring.” He opened his palm, and there was a small silver ring inlaid with stones that were purple and pink at the same time. Byleth peered at it—it was so small, and so beautiful. “It was your mother’s. I’ll keep it safe for you for now—but someday, you’re going to want this.”

Byleth’s mind drifted to Seteth. _Do I—do I feel that way about him?_ Something inside her knew that if she had to ask, she didn’t. Not yet. 

Jeralt watched her, eyes narrowed. “Hey. Speaking of things I didn’t prepare you for, have you talked to Rhea's advisor recently?”

Byleth kept her face impassive, but she could feel the blush rise on her cheeks. “He told me to find you here. But besides that…no.”

“Hm. Couple of weeks ago, I found him outside your room. I was wondering if he was gonna come clean with you. Sounds like he didn’t. Kinda expected more from him than that.”

“Outside…my room? When?”

“Really early in the morning—that one day I was here to refresh before Rhea immediately sent me out again.” 

Byleth made the connection immediately. Had Seteth come to talk to her? Had he been interrupted by her father? “Oh, that was the night—” 

Jeralt raised a hand, stopping her. “However you were planning to finish that sentence, I don’t think I wanna know.” He shook his head. “Well, all I’ll say is this: don’t ever do anything you don’t want to. I know I don’t have to teach you to defend yourself, but ‘no’ is a complete sentence, you hear me?”

Was her dad talking to her about sex, now? “Um, okay. Yeah.”

“Look—I have to go. I’ll need to be on the road again before sunset. But, well, I just wanted you to know.”

Byleth nodded. _This day has been so strange._ “Well, thanks, Dad.” She reached forward for another one-armed hug. “Take care of yourself.” 

“I will, Byleth. Don’t trouble yourself over me. There’s plenty to worry about here. You don’t have to worry about your old man too.” 

*

Ten minutes later, Byleth was standing outside of Seteth’s door, training spear in hand. She took a deep breath, asking herself what she wanted out of this interaction, what she wanted from this man. 

She remembered Leonie’s teasing from before, thought about what her dad had shared. 

She wondered how many other faculty members and students had already made assumptions about what was happening between her and Rhea’s advisor. Certainly Sylvain. And Manuela. And…the rest of the faculty. 

And yet, she hadn’t even really considered how she felt about any of this—beyond the unrelenting flush of desire she’d felt in his presence since that very first day. _That_ she’d been only too aware of. 

She’d been too busy to engage with whatever was growing between them among lessons and errands and missions for the church. 

But she thought about it now. Considered how it had felt navigating his stoicism and his reticence, his judgment—how his vocal mistrust of her sometimes felt cruel.

How it had felt walking arm in arm with him under the starry expanse of Fódlan’s night skies. 

How it had felt navigating an entirely new life. 

Her entire world had been turned upside down when she’d arrived at Garreg Mach, and her father was right—she’d been completely unprepared for it. 

She still felt unprepared. Even though she’d gotten into the swing of balancing her responsibilities and her lessons and the students, she often felt as though she was floundering in deep water, gasping for air. And interacting with the man in the office before her was like trying to keep her head above water as the the tide rolled in before the storm. 

Maybe the answer was to stop thrashing and to learn to breathe underwater, instead. 

She knocked on the door, and Seteth answered. “It is unlocked. Come in.” 

Byleth swung open the door of his office; Seteth looked up from his work . “Hello, Professor. Were you able to locate your father?”

Byleth closed the door behind her. “I was.” She stepped into the center of the room, leaning her spear against the chair there. “You know, while I was speaking to him, he said something really strange.”

Seteth hesitated before responding. “What did he say?”

“He said that he’d expected you to come clean with me after running into you outside my room, late at night a few weeks back.”

Seteth braced himself against his desk. “Oh.”

Byleth crossed her arms, appraising his reaction. “I didn’t ask him what he meant by that comment. Do you know?”

“Well…”

“What _were_ you doing at my door in the middle of the night?”

He flushed, a deep shade of crimson she hadn’t before seen on his cheeks. “I can explain—”

“It was the same night you walked me back from the tavern. The night you kissed my hand.”

“Yes.” Seteth opened his mouth to respond further and then closed it again.

Byleth waited. She stood in front of him, staring him down, watching while he became very interested in the woodgrain of the desk between them.

When he couldn’t seem to find the words he was after, she asked, “Seteth, do you want to kiss me?”

He blanched, finally meeting her eyes. “Byleth, you—you cannot just…come into my office and ask this of me.”

She frowned. “Why not? Why is it any different than any other question?”

His answer was an angry whisper. “It—it is not a question adults ask of one another, let alone a professor of a school run by the Church of _Seiros_ …!”

“Seteth, I’m not asking this of you as a professor.” She took a step closer to him, rounding the side of his desk, remembering again the heat of his mouth on her hand. “I’m—asking you as a person. As a…friend.”

“A friend?” His face looked pained. He stood up. She heard him mutter something about “impertinence” before turning his back to her and looking out of the window behind his desk, his breathing almost imperceptible it was so shallow.

She thought again of his ears. Considered everything they didn’t yet know about each other, everything they could learn. 

She thought of the small silver ring that had sparkled in her father’s hand, understanding that Jeralt had once been in love, had been close to someone in a way that had made him both happy—and sad.

Had Seteth? Was this as new to him as it was to her? Or was she the only adult in Fódlan who did not know what it felt to be in love?

She looked at Seteth. His face was half turned towards her, and he was watching her out of the corner of his eye while he held his chin thoughtfully, the kaleidoscope of the afternoon sun through the stained glass making rainbows on his face. He shifted, breathing through his nose, trying to gather himself.

Byleth moved next to him, stopping less than an arm’s length away. “I don’t think we’re going to do any weapons training today.”

He looked at her. Blinked. “But—”

“I think we have other things to talk about.” She met his eyes. “This dance between us has gone on long enough. Answer me, Seteth.”

He closed his eyes, breathing out, anguished. She was close enough to feel the heat of his presence and the distress that radiated off of him in waves. “Yes.” He opened his eyes, and they were very green. “Yes. The answer…is yes.”

Byleth reached forward, grabbing his hand, moving it around to the curve of her waist. His fingers curled into her side, and he pulled her in, leaning over her. Breathlessly, she wrapped her arm around him in return, feeling the firm strength of his frame beneath his vestments.

His face was so, so close, and this time, instead of retreating, she tilted her head up and closed the distance between them, meeting his mouth with hers, allowing her lips to brush against his. She paused, waiting for him to respond, wondering if she'd just made another foolish mistake.

But then he breathed out against her, and then he was kissing her back, and then they were kissing each other. Feeling his mouth move against hers, finally, satisfied something deep within her. If this was how it felt to drown, she was here for it.

And kissing him was exactly as she’d imagined it: his lips were soft and firm and practiced—so unlike the boys of her youthful explorations. So unlike the messy, desperate sex she’d had wherever she could get it, before.

Kissing Seteth was at once incendiary and refined.

He kissed a trail along her cheek, pressing his hot mouth onto her neck, sending little shivers down her body. Byleth allowed her hand to wander to his hair, and it was exactly as soft as she'd suspected. She breathed out, her cheek resting against his, almost afraid to move that she would scare him away. 

But instead, he found her mouth again, tilting her face softly with his hand so he could take the kiss deeper. She stepped backwards, coming into contact with his desk, leaning against it to brace herself against him.

He tipped her back, his hand behind her, leaning her back over his desk and the paperwork spread below. His other hand was already on her thigh, and she was on fire with sensation—feeling his fingers graze her skin through her tights, feeling his mouth on hers, the soft interplay between them. 

Feeling the heat that was already pooling in her core, begging for a release she was uncertain she would receive.

She reached up, breaking the kiss, meeting his eyes. There was surprise there, and a mirror of the arousal she felt, and she’d wondered how hard he’d worked over the last months of her presence here to keep this kind of heat tucked away. She raised a hand to his face, feeling the softness of his beard, tracing the skin above his high collar. 

She was already desperate to unbutton it—to press her lips into the curve of his neck, to feel the hollow of his chest, to use her mouth to make him come undone.

His hand brushed the hem of her shorts, and she pushed into him again, allowing her body to telegraph every thought, every late night, every frustration she’d had with this man, expressing every response she'd tucked into herself over months and months.

In response, he cupped at her breast, and she moaned audibly into his mouth, wanting pressure, wanting skin, wanting more—

Seteth broke the kiss, pulling away, breathless. “Shhh.” He pulled back, looking at the door. “Shh, Byleth. We can’t—”

Frozen together, his hand still gripping her breast through her clothes, they listened as the chatter of voices sounded in the hallway, accompanied by the cadence of approaching footsteps.

“Did you—”

Byleth realized what he was asking. “No, I didn’t lock—”

“We cannot be discovered—not here.” He pulled away, and it took every fiber of her self control for Byleth not to close the gap once again. 

“You’re right.” She swallowed, feeling slightly guilty. “I have a feeling we’ve already become a fixture in the rumor mill.”

Seteth looked at her knowingly. “Now you understand why I so desperately value my privacy.”

Byleth blew out the breath she was holding, and pushed off the desk, her body almost flush against his. “I do. But—”

She swallowed her words as he leaned in to kiss her, once again, with soft parted lips that were both a conclusion and a promise of something more.

A knock sounded at the door. Seteth pulled back, flattening his hair, trying to compose himself. Cyril’s voice rang through. “Seteth? Lady Rhea would like to see you. She told me to tell you that you gotta come right away. Something about the Rite, I wager.”

Byleth read “I told you so” in the look Seteth gave her. He responded, speaking loudly past Byleth's shoulder in a voice that she found impressively steady. “I am just finishing up here—I will be along shortly.”

“Okay. I’m gonna let her know.”

“Thank you.” They heard Cyril’s footsteps diminish as he departed.

Byleth leaned her head against the plane of his chest for just a moment more, feeling his heart beating there, feeling the raggedness of her own breath, very aware that this was a closeness they would not soon replicate.

And also aware, sinkingly, that Leonie had been right. She chuckled into his chest. 

“Professor—Byleth.” He grabbed her hand, looking pained. “Of all the responses—laughter?” 

Byleth could sense his insecurity, and she soothed him with a look. “I’m not laughing _at_ you. It’s just that…earlier Leonie insinuated all of my faculty training sessions with you would be sexual in nature, and I guess, so far it turns out she was right.” 

She pulled back to see a grimace on Seteth’s face. “Perhaps next time we will actually use the equipment you came with.” 

Byleth smiled back at him, trying to make her own double entendre clear. “Is that a promise?”

Seteth looked scandalized. “Professor!” 

Byleth laughed as she pulled away, still amused as she collected her own spear, closing the door to his office behind her, praying the hallway was empty. 

She turned, heading to the library, allowing her feet to take her away, away so Cyril and Rhea would not see the flush in her cheeks and so she could finally admit to herself what everyone else seemed to know already: that she’d been in deep with this man since the very, very beginning.

***  
  
  
  



	10. idle hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v gratuitous seteth self-pleasure. really, that's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really just wanted an excuse to imagine how that conversation that flayn drops on byleth before the rite of rebirth played out from seteth's POV XD

Seteth hadn’t thought of anything besides Byleth’s face for days. 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he breathed or slept or sat, her eyes swam into his awareness, followed by her parted lips. But what struck him most of all, and what his mind kept wandering back to, was the desire writ plain on her face. 

She _wanted_ him. He could hardly believe it for breathing, but he knew what he’d seen, knew what he’d felt when he’d kissed her. 

It had been so many long years since he’d indulged in the touch of another. And never once in the centuries since his wife had died had he allowed himself to be _involved._ But he knew this—tryst?—with Byleth was more, had been more, than a passing infatuation since day one. 

How else could he explain his own insistence on keeping his distance? Explain forcing her into the dorms with the students? Explain how the part of him that once knew how to take to the skies on its own swooped with joy inside of him?

It should have been fine—he should have been able to control himself—but then she was in his office asking him if he wanted to kiss her, and then the time for thinking was over. 

And now it could not be undone.

By kissing her, he’d pulled the tempest of feelings and regret and worry and elation out of his head and into his waking days—and it was madness. Seteth was alive with it.

“Seteth?”

Seteth tried to school his surprise as the archbishop’s voice brought him back into the audience chamber and away from his most certainly improprietous thoughts. “Ah—yes, Lady Rhea?”

“What do you suppose?”

Seteth allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose in consternation. “I do apologize Lady Rhea, but I am afraid I’ve been rather distracted.” 

Rhea assessed him, the tilt of her head telegraphed in the tassels on her headdress. “I have noticed you’ve been rather unlike yourself this afternoon. Is there something the matter?” 

Seteth remembered the feeling of Byleth’s breasts pressed against his chest as he kissed her. “No. Nothing is out of sorts.” 

Rhea continued to peer into him, and it took everything he had not to squirm away from her placid-eyed appraisal. “Seteth, I do not need to remind you of the threat we currently face. I am not concerned for my own life, as you well know, but sinister forces move in the shadows. Sinister forces that have plagued us for centuries.” 

She swallowed, and Seteth knew he was not going to like what she uttered next. “Forces that are particularly interested in your, ah— _sister_.” She looked at him knowingly.

Seteth’s chest constricted. “Yes, Lady Rhea. The threat has not been forgotten.” 

“We cannot be overcautious for the Rite.” 

He nodded, pretending admonishment, wishing he could feel something besides his own desire beating through his blood, persistent despite the tension tightening his chest at the mention of Flayn’s safety. 

Rhea broke her archbishop’s poise and reached forward, laying a hand on Seteth’s arm. “Seteth, I know the past few months have been difficult for you. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? The ritual is tomorrow, and we have done this together for two decades now. I need you fresh and alert more than I need someone to double check the candle supply.” 

He couldn’t help but lean away from her; a part of him worried that she would somehow surmise the true problem and the target of his diverted attention through their shared contact. 

Rhea had an uncanny way of seeing what was true. And using it to get what she wanted from others.

“Your counsel is wise, Rhea. I…I have not been myself lately. I will take my leave.” 

* 

After a quick detour to his office to drop off his paperwork—and send Cyril to check the candle supply, as it had completely slipped his mind—Seteth found himself in his chambers. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window and illuminated his room, which was quiet in the way of bedrooms in the daytime. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found himself undisposed in the afternoon. With Flayn on cooking duty—Goddess save them all—and his obligations suddenly evaporated, he was responsible to no one besides himself. 

He unbuttoned his vestments and shrugged them off, laying them across the green-and-gold upholstered bench that rested at the end of his bed. 

Sinking down, he removed his boots before unbuttoning the neck of his linen undershirt. It was warm, and getting warmer, and there was nothing quite like the sense of relaxation and relief that came from releasing himself from his traditional garb and his yoke of obligations at the end of the day. 

His circlet, however, remained. It took enough fussing to get it to lay correctly under his hair, and he’d already paid for his miscalculation there in the training hall with Byleth’s close scrutiny. 

Would any of this have transpired without her untimely discovery and her unearthly curiosity? It was impossible to say.

He considered what to do with his free time—perhaps he should write? He looked at the letter desk tucked into the corner of his room and considered his most recent fable, and with a sigh, he sunk down onto his bed, letting the down of the comforter support him. 

Who was he kidding? Certainly not himself. His mind hadn’t stayed focused on a thing of import for three days, and not for lack of trying. 

Already, the comfort of his bed and the thought of Byleth had him half-erect, and it was all he could do not to roll over and rut against his own mattress like a teenager in heat. 

Instead, he unbuttoned his pants, feeling his own warmth against his palm, stroking gently, almost tentatively, as he navigated the tension between his own arousal and his deeply ingrained sense of decorum. 

After lecturing Manuela for years over her licentious behavior, here he was, the ultimate hypocrite, encouraging this relationship between himself and a subordinate, allowing himself to indulge in the sheer luxury of his infatuation with her, despite every wise consideration to the contrary. 

The sense of shame he felt over his blatant lust for his colleague colored his cheeks.

But Byleth was _arresting_ —and unlike Manuela’s unfortunate suitors, she seemed to actually return his interest, regardless of the complexities of their professional relationship, her uncertain background, and the loud protest of every shred of common sense he’d developed over his long lifetime.

After a brief battle between his sentiments and his station, his physical need won out. 

In an instant, he was back in his own office, reliving the experience that had been stuck in his mind for days. In his mind’s eye, he could see every last detail of her—down to the details on her dagger—and with no obligations on the horizon, he allowed himself to succumb to the depth of his desire for this paradox of a woman.

He thought about how it would feel to reach out his hand to her, to feel her take it. To initiate, instead of relenting. To draw her in.

Imagined brushing her hair away from her clavicle, finding the warm junction between her neck and shoulder, imagined pressing his lips into her skin. Imagined allowing himself to be close to her, to _really_ see her, to take in her dark lashes and her stormy-ocean eyes without creating distance or pretending to look away.

He stroked himself, allowing the ripple of tension and sensation and relief to spread through his body. He settled into the rising pleasure and allowed the memory of her to be the explicit inspiration for it, instead of relegating his desire for this woman to a shadowy corner of his own mind. 

Her voice rang in his thoughts: _“Seteth, do you want to kiss me?”_

How much he’d wanted to sing out the affirmative, to pull her in and never let go. 

Instead, he’d clamped down. Taciturn and anxious and self-denying, his fear of what might be—of the danger of his attachment—had kept him quiet until he was damn near breaking. 

He exhaled a shaky breath and sigh along with it. All of that was behind him now. 

And ahead, the future was still a mystery, but he knew his feelings for her had already shifted. Whether it was his arousal talking or something wiser, Seteth decided to just let what he wanted…be.

Free of his own self-imposed rules, he allowed himself to consider her name. _Byleth._

Just the sound of her intensified his need. _Byleth. Byleth. Byleth._ He pumped himself, matching the cadence of her name, his actions jerky, erratic. Remembered the sight of her on the first day, remembered how brilliant and mysterious she had been in the sunshine.

He allowed himself to look at the fullness of his need, yawning open in front of him, a pit that could only be filled by her presence.

He imagined pushing her back onto his desk—paperwork be damned—and spreading her legs wide with his hips, pressing himself against her, remembered the way she sighed and softened as he’d explored her mouth with his own.

He thought about what it would feel like to slide her shorts down her pretty legs, carefully, to preserve the delicate, scandalous, utterly distracting stockings that she always wore, to run his fingers over her soft skin until she trembled. 

He thought about finding the heat at the core of her, using his thumb to make her writhe and moan, imagining her face, open with pleasure and arousal, telegraphing the sensations he was creating inside of her.

His cock twitched in his hand. He was already quite close.

What it would be like to smell her, to take her breast in his hand, to fist his fingers in her hair and break down every last professional pretense between them. To submit, to be her _lover_ —to allow himself to express with his own body all the ways she’d made him feel. 

To thrust into her, endlessly, until they were both mindless with the intensity of it.

He matched the rhythm of his thoughts with his own hand, quickly now, imagining sheathing himself inside of her, imagining her face reverent with pleasure that mirrored his own—and he realized that enduring these thoughts without having her here, incarnate, besides him, was its own kind of torture. 

Alone would never be enough.

He was too close now to sating his own need, however, to let the hollowness of the experience stop him, and he took advantage of the privacy of his own mind to allow him to consider acts so scandalous he could never do them in his thinking life: Byleth, naked, ass against the wood of his desk, uncaring who might witness the sound of their lovemaking; Byleth, bound beneath him and begging for release; Byleth, braced above him, moaning headily, breasts full and free, as his cock drove into her again and again and—

Seteth came, releasing himself all over his own hand, shuddering with the intensity of it. It had been months since he’d last allowed himself respite, and he was taken aback by the sheer volume of his physical response. He cupped his other hand underneath his dick, still pulsing from his release, trying not to sully his bedclothes. 

He shifted over to his washbasin, grabbing the towel to clean himself up just moments before he heard Flayn enter the common area. 

Softly, Seteth swore. 

“Brother, is that you?” He could hear her approaching his chambers.

He had not locked the door.

He worked quickly to clean himself up and return himself to propriety. “Yes, Flayn! Please—I’ll be out in just a moment.” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice as he toweled himself up and worked to lace his trousers.

“Oh—are you certain you are quite alright, brother? You do not sound well.” She paused before continuing to speak to him through the door. “I can fetch Manuela, or I can take a look myself, if you’d like.” 

He took a final glance in the mirror above his basin, straightening his hair and pressing his water-cooled hands against the flush in his cheeks. He looked wrecked. He hardly recognized himself.

“No, that will be quite unnecessary.” 

He crossed the room, hoping his daughter wouldn’t think to connect his actions to his appearance. He opened the door to her concerned face, brow furrowing at the sight of him. 

She reached up to press her hand against his face, and he covered it with his own. “Come, my daughter. I had just laid down for an afternoon nap—you startled me is all. I wasn’t expecting you.” He hoped acknowledging their true relationship would draw her attention away from his appearance.

“Oh, Father.” She hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. “How I wish we could live freely as the people we truly are, if only here in the monastery.” 

“I know, my darling. I know.” Would his life ever be anything more than a series of secrets and pleasures denied? “How was kitchen duty?”

“It was lovely. There were so many others to speak with—and don’t worry, I didn’t say anything strange or suspicious, and I left at least a foot of distance between myself and the males, just like you said.” 

“I am glad to hear it.” He smiled down at her. “Are you home early, or has it just gotten that late?” 

Flayn’s cheeks colored prettily. “The others told me they could handle the rest of the cooking, and the cleaning, and they told me I was…dismissed.” 

“Ah. Seems both of us have been sent home earlier than we’d intended today.” He released her from the hug, and led her over to the small sitting room in the center of the common area, noticing that his breathing had almost returned to normal and hoping his face had begun to do the same. 

“Are you finished preparing for the Rite of Rebirth, then?” She smiled excitedly. “I can’t wait to witness it for the first time tomorrow. Do you really think it will work?”

Seteth frowned. “I don’t know what to think about Rhea’s rituals anymore. After all, we both know…”

“Yes, yes. I know the tales of our people well, Father. Regardless, I am certain it will be beautiful to behold.” 

“It will indeed, assuming nothing goes awry.”

“Will the students accompany us tomorrow?”

“No, they will not. They will be helping protect the monastery from intruders.” 

“Ah. That’s right. I was hoping I might have a chance to speak with the others again. Or the new professor. She was in the kitchens today, helping us prepare fish for dinner, Father.” 

Seteth could feel his heart beat faster at the mention of her. “Was she…still there when you departed?” He couldn’t decide if he’d rather rush to see if he could catch her or give her time to leave. Someday, and soon, they’d have to speak about what had transpired between them. But he wasn’t certain that had to be today.

“She was not—she said she had to speak with Edelgard in preparation for tomorrow. Father, she is so kind and so lovely to behold. And she catches the best fish, better than anyone else in Garreg Mach. I just—” Her face turned pensive. “Do you—do you think there will be a fight? Will the students and the faculty be in danger?”

Truly, Seteth had been so preoccupied with his own private dramas that he hadn’t considered the question. The idea of Byleth in battle, injured or lost in the process of protecting Rhea, had simply not occurred to him. Prior to this month's mission, her assignments had been well beneath her caliber. But this—this was something else entirely. Her responsibility to the church might put her in actual danger.

His chest tightened, a familiar feeling. He did not want Byleth’s obligation to him or to Rhea to put her in harm’s way any more than he wanted to offer Flayn as sacrifice to the potential intruders. 

“I hope not. But just in case, I might speak to Rhea about how best to ensure the students and the faculty do not encounter any needless danger. I would…hate for the new professor to be injured protecting Garreg Mach.” 

Flayn studied his face very carefully as he spoke. “What were you thinking?”

“As you know, Rhea can protect herself. Perhaps the professor could guard the Holy Mausoleum. There’d be less danger to her and the others in her class if everything surrounding her were…already dead. There is scant down there besides coffins.” 

_And the sword._ But even Seteth’s paranoid imagination couldn’t fathom how that little mystery could be relevant to Rhea’s assassination or the Rite of Rebirth. No one yet knew that Seiros still walked this earth, just as Seteth and Flayn’s true identity had been lost to time—no one besides them could possibly know that the coffins held nothing besides air and the defiled bones of the progenitor god.

Flayn smiled, a little too knowingly for his liking. “Yes, Father. That sounds wise. I’m sure the mausoleum would be perfectly safe. After all, I rested soundly there for almost twenty years, correct?” She patted his hand. “Shall we go early for dinner? I worked very hard on the soup, and I’m thinking it will be quite good.” 

Seteth’s stomach turned with regret—not only was Flayn’s cooking abysmal, but he felt personally responsible that he hadn’t been able to help her learn in a time before his deliberate tutelage in the area would be conspicuous. Her long, long sleep had meant she’d missed so much. They both had.

“Yes, let us depart.” At the very least, he knew what dish to avoid. 

Sighing, he allowed Flayn to take his hand and lead him from their quarters, hoping they’d be dining early enough that no one would notice his lack of proper attire—or the residual flush from his ill-advised behavior—on this strange, yet pleasant, afternoon.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, how time does fly. is everything harder for everyone else too? i hope you are all hanging in there. 
> 
> also: i have had the first sex scene of this story written since december, and i'm so fucking glad we're almost there. GOD this has taken forever, just like some kidnapping and shit first. seteth's in for such a wild ride.


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